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OLD WORLD SCENES. 



/ 

s/ 
BY CHAKLES WILLIAMS. 



England! with all thy faults, I love thee still. 

COWPHR. 

Whoever, with an earnest soul, 
Strives for some end above his reach afar, 

Still upward travels, though he miss the goal, 
And strays, — but toward a star. 



PI TTSBURGH: 

PRINTED BY W. S. HAVEN, CORNER OF WOOD AND THIRD STRKET3. 

1867. 
J 






ADVERTISEM ENT. 



This little book is respectfully offered to the intelligent readers of our 
country, in the hope that it may have a tendency to awaken an interest 
in the scenes among which it dwells, or renew an acquaintance with 
places so often described ; as it is ever pleasant to see the same object 
from different points of view, or through the medium of different minds. 
The work is designed to be of general interest to both old and young, 
but is especially directed "to those whose hearts are warmed with an in- 
tense admiration for the truly Great in Literature, in Science, and in Art, 
which the British Isles and Paris offer to our view. 

It may also serve to show how much enjoyment may be extracted 
from a small amount of money, without the loss of self-respect, or the 
respect of our fellow men. A supplementary chapter is devoted es- 
pecially to this object. It is not egotistic. Personal items are generally 
suppressed. 

The present edition will be one dollar per copy. It will be sent by mail, 
post paid, on receipt of price. The usual discount to the trade. It can 
be had at any time by addressing 

Charles Williams, 

Salem, Ohio. 



EKKATA. 



Page 42 4th line from top, omit " and." 

74 10th " " for " Nerbuaha" read " Nerbudha." 

77 7th M bottom, for " I Chron." read « II Chron." 

78 3d " top, for last " the" read " he." 

84 13th " " for " fringes" read " figures." 

95 18th " bottom, for " Levorrier" read " Leverrier," 

113 7th " " . for " Kensington" read " Kennington. 

122 4th " top, no pause after " death." 

182 5th " " for "owns" read "owes." 

230 7th " bottom, for "braches" read " branches." 

222 3d " " " untelligible" read " unintelligible." 

224 4th " " " minature," read " miniature." 



PREFACE. 



'Tis pleasant sure to see one's name in print, 

A book's a book — although there's nothing in't. — Byron. 

This trifle, begun to please only myself and my own private fancy, was 
laid on the shelf; but some friends having seen it, induced me, by dint of 
saying they liked it, to put ft in print. That is, having come to this very 
conclusion, I consulted them when it could make no confusion. 

Fable for Critics. 

Friendly Header : 

I offer for thy perusal the following narrative" of a 
journey to the vestibule of the Old "World. The child of my 
brain, — my ambition the father, — the mother my fancy — I 
send it forth with fear and trembling to seek its level in the 
Kepublic of Letters. 

A name, a name, — is the magic spell that tosses volumes to 
an eager world ; — the herald that announces the advent of a 
newborn child of Intellect ; — the Angel that troubles the 
waters of the Literary Bethesda, and straightway plunges in 
the candidate for public favor, to heal it of whatsoever dis- 
ease it has, — to guard it from the plague-spot of the critic's 
touch and the blighting breath of public scorn, of general, 
perhaps unmerited neglect. My little book is totally without 
this talismanic charm. 

My aim has been to supply to the intelligent youth of our 
land a faithful description, — enlivened with the ebullitions of a 
fancy somewhat vigorous rather than delicate, — of the great 
scenes of artistic, of architectural, and historic interest in 
Great Britain and Paris — a work, the want of which I often 
and severely felt in my younger days. 

I have not descended to- the minuter details of my journey ; 
for what reader would care to be involved in the all-absorbing 



Vlll PREFACE. 

questions of my personal affairs : — whether I slept well or ill 
at such a place, — whether I dined on mutton chops or herring, 
— how often the rain penetrated beyond my overcoat, — or how 
often my hat went sailing away on the southern breeze, setting 
at nought all considerations of propriety, — triumphantly 
asking to be let alone, and obstinately defying the coercive 
powers of the central government. 

I am fully aware that a writer's individuality, — one of the 
greatest charms of our literary travelers, — is often wrapped 
up in questions of these trivial natures ; but such is not my 
province. My fancy is not sufficiently playful to invest these 
little matters with that halo of beauty which alone would 
entitle them to the attention of my readers, if indeed that class 
of people are found. 

But one personal trait I have embodied: one which many, 
perhaps most, would keep in the background as far as possible 
— that is, my poverty. I made the journey on less than two 
hundred and twenty dollars, and have paraded this fact in a 
"supplementary chapter, with a full account of my way of trav- 
eling ; thus endeavoring to show to our ^Republican boys that 
a vast fund of enjoyment lays fully and fairly within their 
reach, if they will only consent to look at the world without 
endeavoring to make themselves conspicuous, and fitting them- 
selves out with all the trappings of the traveler's portmanteau : 
in short, if they will consent to look at the world without ex- 
pecting the world to look at them. 

I feel confident I enjoyed as full, as free access to all the 
chief places of interest, as if I had laid out twice ten-fold the 
sum. My descriptions may be relied on as truthful, and the 
sentiment which will occasionally be found, is that of an ardent 
lover of the fine arts, an admirer of the beautiful in nature, an 
enthusiast perhaps amid the scenes of historic fame and the 
noble ruins of antiquity ; whose heart, however, has never 
been weaned from the love of the star-spangled banner — whose 
affections never estranged from the glorious institutions of our 
own America. 

Salem, Ohio, 1st Month, 1863. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Preface, .__ vii 

Chapter I. The Voyage, - 1 

Embarking— First View of the Ocean— Phosphorescence 
of the Water— Moonlight on the Ocean— Sunrise— First 
View of England. 

Chapter II. Liverpool, 6 

Letter from Home— St. George's Hall— English and Amer- 
ican Patriotism. 

Chapter III. Ancient Abbeys, - 11 

Kirkstall— Contrast of the Past and Present— Fountain's 
Abbey — Tribute to Modern Improvement. 

Chapter IV. City oe York, - 17 

York Minster— Music— Population of England. 

Chapter V. London, - - - 21 

A World in Miniature— Public Works— Great Features. 

Chapter VI. . St. Paul's, - - - ' ■-- - 25 

Exterior — Interior — Under the Dome — Requiem for 
Prince Albert— Whispering Gallery — Golden Gallery. 

Chapter VII. The Crystal Palace, - 31 

The Park — Ancient Courts — View in the Evening Twi- 
light— By Moonlight. 

Chapter VIII. The British Museum, - 37 

Libraries — Reading Room — Geologic or North Gallery- 
Elgin Marbles— Their thrilling Associations— Egyptian 
Gallery— A Voice from the Past. 



X CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Chapter IX. Westminster Abbey, - 47 

Its hoary Grandeur— Poet's Corner— Addison's Tomb- 
Newton's Monument— Henry VII.'s Chapel— Coronation 
Chairs — Morning Service. 

Chapter X. Houses of Parliament, - 53 

English Throne — Accommodations for the Nobles — 
Westminster Hall— Ludicrous Mistake. 

Chapter XI. National Gallery of Painting, 59 

Spirit of Beauty — Claude's Embarkation of Queen of 
Sheba— Correggio — Titian— Reubens— Turner— Dulwich 
'Gallery. 

Chapter XII. Tower of London, - 66 

Crown Jewels — Tragedies of History — Tower Hill- 
Whitehall— Cromwell. 

Chapter XIII. Zoological and Botanic 

Gardens, - 71 

Gardens at Kew— The Torrid Zone in a World of Crystal. 

Chapter XIV. Spurgeon, - 75 

His Audiences — Character of his Oratory— His Prayer— 
His Sermon — Rev. Mr. Punshon — His Picture of the 
Outward World— Free Grace. 



Chapter XV. Hampton Court, - 82 

State Rooms— Raphael's Cartoons— Great Hall of Woolsey 
—Tapestry. 

Chapter XVI. South Kensington Museum, 87 

Superior Paintings— East India Museum— Royal Hall and 
Throne. 

Chapter XVII. Christmas Pantomimes, - 91 

Grand Transformation Scene— Chemical Lights. 

Chapter XVIII. Greenwich Observatory, - 95 

The Nestling Place of Science— Longings for Admission 
—Visit— Instruments. 



CONTENTS. XI. 

Page. 

Chapter XIX. International Exhibition, 101 

Great May-Day in London— The Ko-hi-noor— Swiss Night- 
ingale. 

Chapter XX. Kambles in London, - J08 



London Bridge — London Stone — Parks — Cheapside- 
Thames Tunnel. 



/ 



•Chapter XXI. Kambles Continued, - - 118 

London Fogs— Temple Church— Goldsmith— Dr. Johnson — 
Poverty and Poetry— Milton's Grave. 

Chapter XXII. Stonehenge, ... 126 

Its Mystery. 

Chapter XXIII. Scenery of the Wye, - 130 

Analysis of its Character — Double View — Wynd Cliff — 
Tintern Abbey— Falls of Llandogo— Departure from the 
Wye. 

Chapter XXIY. Stratford-on-Avon, - 138 

Shakspeare's Birth-Place — Scenes of his Childhood — 
His Garden— His Grave — Tribute to his Memory. 

Chapter XXV. The Giant's Causeway, 144 

Storm Passage to Ireland — Irish Patriotism — Rugged 
Scenery — Columned Halls — Dunluce Castle. 

Chapter XXVI. Lord Koss' Telescopes, 150 

Descent from the Stars — Modern Astronomy— Lord Ross 
—His Monster Telescope — His "Workshops— Casting and 
Polishing a Speculum — View of Saturn, Jupiter and the 
Moon through his three -foot Instrument — Glory of 
Astronomy. 

Chapter XXVII. Irish Scenery, - 157 

The Dargle — Meeting of the Waters — Vale of Avoca — 
City of Dublin — Adieu to Ireland— Britannia Tubular 
Bridge. 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Chapter XXVIII. Edinburgh, - - -* 163 

Landing in Scotland— Her Great Men— Holyrood Palace 
—Crown Jewels in the Castle— Grave of Hugh Miller— 
His Works— Arthur's Seat— Calton Hill. 

Chapter XXIX. 170 

Melrose Abbey — Hawthornden — Roslin Chapel— Stirling 
Castle — Battle ground of Bannockburn. <& 

Chapter XXX. A Day of Pleasure, - 176 

Loch Lomond — Highland Scenery— Loch Katrine— Ben- 
Venue— Ellen's Isle — A Dream of Beauty. 

Chapter XXXI. - 181 

Highland Legends— Brigg of Bracklynn— Ascent of Ben- 
Ledi — View from the Summit. 

Chapter XXXII. Paris, - 186 

First View of the Sea-shore— Arrival at Paris — The 
Louvre — Tuilleries — Garden of the Tuilleries — Notre 
Dame — St. Sulpice— Madeline— Obelisk of Luxor — Place 
de Concord— Grandeur of its Scenery. 

Chapter XXXIII. Keverie in pere la Chaise, 197 
Chapter XXXIV. 211 

Tomb of Napoleon— Rotunda of Hotel des Invalides— 
City Lights from the Obelisk— Birds-eye View of Paris- 
Parallel between French and English— Adieu to Paris. 

Chapter XXXV. 217 

Fontainbleau— Versailles— Gardens— Picture Galleries- 
Statue of Joan of Arc— Perfection of Landscape Painting. 

Chapter XXXVI. 221 

Windsor Castle — Yorkshire — Dialects of the |English 
Peasantry— Adventure with a Yorkshireman— Town Hall 
of Leeds— Ely Cathedral by Moonlight— Cambridge- 
Oxford— Addison's Walk. 

Chapter XXXVII. 228 

Salisbury— Bristol— Clifton Doan— Cardiff Castle— Great 
Eastern. 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

Page. 

Chapter XXXVIII. - 235 

Conway — Chester — Birmingham — Warwick Castle— 
Shakspeare's Cliff — Loss of Umbrella— Dream of Home. 

Chapter XXXIX. English feeling toward 

America, - 240 

Receipt for testing your Patriotism— Feeling in Ireland. 

Chapter XL. Homeward Voyage, - 252 

Great Eastern leaving Liverpool — Farewell to Old Eng- 
land—Dropping Anchor— Departure from Ireland— Sun- 
set at Sea — Wake of the Vessel— Fourth of July at Sea- 
Tribute to my Native Land— Sabbath at Sea— One of 
Life's Fairest Days— Land at New York. 

Chapter XLI. Supplementary. Economy 

in Travel, - - 264 

Motives and Expenses of the Journey— The Traveler'9 
Reveries — Refined Alchemy — Poverty on a Journey — 
Model Lodging Houses — My Enjoyments — The Attained 
and the Prospective. 



OLD WORLD SCENES. 




CHAPTER I. 

EMBARKING — FIRST VIEW OF OCEAN — PHOSPHORESCENCE — 
MOONLIGHT — SUNRISE — ROUGH WEATHER — HOL YHEAD. 

" Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves, 
And when you fail my sight, 
Welcome, green mountains and dark caves; 
My native land, good night!" — Byron. 

t$P VOYAGE across the Atlantic opens up many new 
scenes of interest to one who has always resided 
in the remote interior. The change is so complete 
and thorough, and the points of comparison with former 
experience so few, that it almost seems like entering upon 
a new stage of existence. 

On a beautiful autumnal morning we embarked from 
Philadelphia, to try the dangers and the glories of the 
sea. A rushing crowd of excited passengers and anxious 
friends thronged the deck and filled the narrow cabins — 
piles of baggage, continually increasing, encroached on 
the already crowded space — the bustle of preparation 
among the seamen and officers had no tendency to allay 
the confusion — while the novelty of the scene, and the 
mingled emotions with which we looked forward to our 
uncertain sojourn on the bounding billows of the ocean, 
combined to throw a strange enchantment over the whole 
proceeding. 

Meanwhile, the order went forth among the multitude, 
proclaimed in thunder tones, that all should go ashore 
who were not bound for the ocean voyngc. Then came 
1 



2 FIRST VIEW OF OCEAN. 

the frequent adieu, the fervent blessing, the earnest 
expression of hope for our safety, and the tearing asunder 
of ties that had long been a solace to life. The moorings 
were loosed, and our noble vessel floated out from the 
shore, amid the cheerings of friends and the excited 
emotions of the anxious crowds. Parting salutes were 
repeatedly waved from ship to shore, and the breeze which 
gently carried us out upon the water, wafted back the 
answering adieu, and the cordial blessings of friends who 
remained behind. 

The objects on shore now assumed the appearance of a 
vast moving panorama; the City of Brotherly Love and 
the shores of the old Keystone State passed in review 
before us'as we glided down the Delaware, till the shades 
of evening closed around, and the landscape faded for 
the night. In the morning we were nearing the ocean ; 
the watery waste is widening before us ; the land appears 
like a wisp of vapor just hovering on the distant horizon, 
and our noble vessel walks gracefully out on the bosom of 
the eternal deep. I feel the grandeur of the view — it 
is impressive, new, sublime ! Standing thus upon the 
margin of the mighty ocean, I look forward with awe and 
trembling into its illimitable expanse — its unbounded 
arena of wonders, and hail the beauties and the glories 
which are just opening up before me ; then turn once 
more to my native land, and wave a fond adieu. 

The ocean is glorious ! Scenes of new and varied beauty 
constantly await you. It is delightful to lean over the 
bulwarks and. watch the vessel ploughing her way through 
the waters which break in foam around her prow, while 
the feelings that arise within you as you gaze down into 
that vast, unfathomable, mysterious profound, must be 
experienced to be understood. What wild, fantastic 
caverns, yawning in horrid obscurity, but hung with gems 
and brilliants ; what craggy mountain ranges, rising you 
know not how near the surface ; what wide plains and 
savannas, covered with luxuriant sea-weed and peopled 
with monsters of the deep — may lie concealed in the abyss 
beneath you, is left for the fancy alone to determine — and 
where all is a fearful mystery, the fancy's range is wide 
and free. 



PHOSPHORESCENCE— MOONLIGHT. 8 

And the phosphorescence of the ocean is one of 
Nature's greatest wonders. In a dark, moonless night, 
when a heavy head wind is baffling you, the vessel seems 
to be running through a mass of fiery snow. All along 
the sides of the ship, and far back in the troubled wake, 
wherever the foam is driven, the water sparkles and 
glistens with the most brilliant corruscations of light ; 
now a continuous flash runs along the crest of the wave, 
as though a taper was burning beneath its surface ; and 
now a dazzling sheet of light goes dancing on in the 
boiling foam, as though a fragment of the moon had fallen 
to mingle with the glory of the sea; and these again set 
off the intense whiteness of the foam to the best advantage, 
while the white-caps that go roaming over the watery 
waste sparkle with the same mysterious light, as though 
the waves were tipped with fire, like myriads of glow- 
worms gleaming in the distance ; or, as my wayward fancy 
continually suggested, as though the sea-nymphs were 
sporting on the turbulent waters by the light of their 
diamond lamps — while ever and anon the giant waves come 
surging up from the blackness of night, and beating 
heavily against the prow of the vessel, go tumbling off to 
leeward in an avalanche of fiery foam. 

And then the moonlight ! It is beautiful on land — on 
the ocean it is fairy-like ! flashing down on the tranquil 
waters with that mild and gentle radiance which gives 
them a new and enrapturing beauty as they go dancing 
along in their brightness and joy, keeping time to the 
music of the evening breeze as it warbles its anthem of 
praise ; while the phosphorescent fires that are wont to 
sparkle in our wake, pale their tiny lustre beneath the full 
effulgence of the lunar day. 

Occasionally a glorious sunrise awaited us. One of 
these was peculiarly fine. A dense bank of clouds broken 
into separate masses, lay along the eastern sky, and warmed 
up into life and beauty as the sun approached their borders; 
deep openings, like rugged chasms, were torn far into their 
inmost recesses, flashing with all the gorgeous splendors of 
advancing day, while tint on tint went Sorting up into the 
depths of ether, from brightest crimson fading gently 



4 ROUGH WEATHER. 

downward to the lovely violet, and mingling with the 
azure sky in the faintest tinge of purple ! These ragged 
caverns of the sky, lighted up with celestial fires, and 
glowing with every hue reflected light can give — sometimes 
piercing the entire stratum of vapor, and giving a glimpse 
of the tathomless sky beyond, seemed like the opening 
vistas to the realms of life that lie beyond the grave. 

Head winds baffled us for many days, and beat us into 
high northern latitudes, where the short winter days were 
still further contracted; the sun might almost be said 
to skim the horizon — the pole star of course riding 
correspondingly high, while rainbows played around us in 
the showers of noon, and occasionally formed a perfect 
circle of the most vivid colors, broken only by the shadow 
of the ship. In these stormy days it is fearfully sublime 
to stand on the deck and watch the foam-capped waves as 
they go rolling and rumbling and roaring on in their wild 
and unfettered career, tossing the mighty vessel as a bubble 
on their bosom — or, in the evening, when the moon is 
pouring down its flood of crystal radiance on the world 
of waters, to see them come up from the dim and misty 
distance, foaming with white-caps and raging with spray, 
and go rolling on into darkness and gloom to leeward ; 
while the terrific force with which they strike our bows 
sends a quiver from stem to stern, and the spray, borne 
aloft by the raging winds, dashes over the sails and yards.* 
The color of the sea in deep water might be described 
as a jet black, tinged with the deepest indigo, and dashed 
with the slighest touch of green. 

Finally the wind veered round in our favor, and 
continuing very strong, we bounded forward with 

* The waves do not run in those long unbroken swells which 
landsmen are apt to imagine, but are piled up in irregular 
masses, like myriads of hay-cocks floating over a meadow, each 
retaining its separate form and driven at random among its 
fellows. In the roughest sea we experienced, the second wave 
was always visible from our deck over the top of the first, or 
that next the ship. In calm water our deck stood about twenty 
feet above the surface of the sea. Hence it would seem the 
waves do not roll as high as is generally supposed ; and the 
term mountain waves is a gross exaggeration. 



HOLYHEAD — PILOT. 5 

impetuous speed. As we approached the heights of 
Holyhead, where the conflicting tides were meeting, as 
they swept around that rugged headland, the scene became 
grand beyond description. The sea was raging with fearful 
violence, and giant waves ever and anon came dashing 
against our stern, and breaking into a torrent of foam, 
went plunging along by our side, as it were a perfect 
cataract of snow, raging and roaring with terrific fury, 
like a traveling Niagara escorting the old Wyoming. 
The beautiful green of the water, so totally different from 
that of the deep sea, resembled the vernal tinge of a vast 
rolling meadow of waving and luxuriant verdure. The 
ship labored and struggled in the raging waters — now 
mounting to the top of a giant wave, our horizon expanded 
far away in the distance — now plunging down to the bottom 
of the abyss, our sight was contracted to a span; anon, 
reeling over, she would tumble headlong into the trough 
of the sea, and again, for a brief period, steady herself for 
the conflict with a firm and defiant tread. In the midst 
of this exciting scene, the bald and hoary cliffs of Holyhead, 
which we had been anxiously looking for, suddenly loomed 
up to view, dimly visible in the mists and clouds which 
enveloped us. 

What a triumph of mind is here ! That our captain 
should thus guide his bark from the fathomless wilds of 
the mid-Atlantic — feeling his way across this waste of 
waters solely by the magic aid of the compass and the 
quadrant — should enter the English Channel, course 
along its winding, narrow route, without once seeing land, 
and in the midst of cloud, and storm, and fog, and sunken, 
treacherous rocks, thus run directly to the bold and craggy 
headland which was to be one of our landmarks — was 
indeed an exhibition of skill and dexterity that might 
well command our admiration. 

We now began to look anxiously for a pilot; but the 
shades of evening closed around, and no guide made his 
appearance. A signal light was burned on the forecastle, 
which flashed up for a few moments in vivid lustre, 
lighting the deck like a gleam of day, and shedding a 
radiance far over the boisterous waves. All hands watched 
1* 



6 LIVERPOOL. 

with intense anxiety for a reply. A few moments elapsed, 
when a glare of brilliant light flashed out in the murky 
darkness — an answering signal from the watchful guide 
who had beheld and responded to our call. What a 
moment of relief was that, when at length the pilot came 
alongside and climbed to our deck ! 

The next day the shores of old England became visible 
in the distance, and as we floated up the Mersey, the town 
of Liverpool was seen on the horizon, lying in a cloud of 
fog, through which a forest of masts peered upward, giving 
one the idea of a vast fleet of ships stranded in a fog-bank. 
How cordially did we greet the welcome sight ! To me it 
had the double charm of being the harbinger of safety 
after our weary voyage, and the opening view of that 
ancient land which had for so many years been tha great 
object of my curiosity; and many fond dreams of my 
childhood and youth seemed now about to be realized ! 

Whilst waiting at the custom house to have my baggage 
examined, a tinge of gloom stole over me. Glad to find 
my feet once more on firm ground, I said to myself, And 
I am at last in England; and the question arose with 
rather startling energy, And for what purpose am I here ? 
But the answer was not so vivid. But meeting with a 
cordial friend among strangers is an excellent antidote 
for the blues. 



CHAPTER II. 

LIVERPOOL — A LETTER FROM HOME — ST. GEORGE'S HALL — 
NORTH CONCERT ROOM — BIRKENHEAD — ENGLISH AND 
AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

" Island of bliss! amid the subject seas 
That thunder round thy rocky coast, * 
* * *••••* all assaults 

Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea wave."— Thomson. 

'JfjJpFON landing in Liverpool, an American feels al- 
most as if he had entered another world. The 
general air of the town is so totally different from 

that of our American cities, that he feels as if ranging the 



LETTER FROM HOME. 7 ' 

thoroughfares of a city of the olden time, that has survived 
its appropriate age and lingered among the changes of the 
present, a relic of antiquity mingling with the refinements 
of an advancing civilization. The massive grandeur of 
the buildings, the solemn, quaint, peculiar ornaments, the 
distinctions in society, all combine to impress him with a 
feeling of singular isolation, and make him realize that he 
has entered upon a new phase of life. It is a town of 
splendor and gaudy show, of exquisite taste and incalcu- 
lable wealth, of architecture the most massive and durable, 
with more, however, of majesty than grace — more of 
grandeur than beauty. 

Here I found a letter awaiting me from home. Would 
you know the full value of a letter ? Cut yourself loose 
from your friends and acquaintances, bid adieu to your 
native shores, roam over the wastes of ocean for weeks, 
storm-swept and homeless, and finally land in a crowded 
city, where myriads of people throng around, but not one 
familiar face wears a smile for you ; and when just recov- 
ering from the first touch of home-sickness which will 
probably steal over you, let a stranger step up and care- 
lessly hand you a letter. You know the hand-writing, a 
message from a loved one at home. You can not take that 
letter calmly ; in spite of your puny efforts it is seized 
with a convulsive grasp; you clutch with affectionate 
violence the mystic hand thus stretched out to you across 
the howling waste of ocean, and from that time^feel new 
life and vigor darting through your frame ; the tie that 
binds you to your home is not yet wholly severed, but the 
messages of kind remembrance are wafted to you on the 
wings of steam, and seek you with unerring certainty 
amid the countless millions of a foreign land. All hail 
to our wondrous system of postal arrangements ! It makes 
man ubiquitous. No corner of the civilized world so 
remote, no hamlet so secluded, but he can send his paper 
messengers to speak his will, and breathe his thoughts in 
friendship's private ear. 

St. George's Hall is one of the principal buildings of 
Liverpool. A long'colonnade of Corinthian pillars adorns 
the eastern front, behind which a magnificent portico gives 



8 ST. GEORGE'S HALL— BIRKENHEAD. 

entrance to the principal hall. In front stretches a spa- 
cious yard paved with large flags, and surrounded by an 
iron chain, with openings here and there for entrance, and 
four massive lions, on heavy pedestals of stone, looking 
fiercely on the passing crowds, guard these approaches to 
the noble building. A pediment at one end, surmount- 
ing a heavy colonnade, bears a large bass-relief, emblematic 
of the power and prosperity of Britain, and forms a mag- 
nificent vestibule j while the opposite end of the building 
projects in a semicircular colonnade supporting a hand- 
some entablature. 

The principal hall is a gorgeous apartment. The arched 
ceiling is richly ornamented by emblazoned shields, deeply 
sunk panels and gilded stars, and rests on numerous pil- 
lars of alternate white and clouded marble, behind which 
deep recesses form convenient niches for statues of many 
noted men, and other appropriate decorations. The north 
concert room is a circular apartment, gorgeous with gild- 
ing and panel work. The ceiling is an immense central 
star, from which rays of different colors radiate to the 
circumference ; the intervening spaces richly set with the 
national emblems — the lion, the rose, and the royal mono- 
grams. From the centre hangs a glass chandelier encircled 
with several rings of burners, and the base exhibiting 
a profusion of prisms and globes, pillars, leaves and 
wreathes, flashing the most brilliant prismatic hues, and 
glittering with streams and stars of reflected light. 

Immediately opposite the hall stands Lime street station, 
the terminus of the Great Northern Railway. It is a 
splendid specimen of rail road architecture; a fine Corin- 
thian front rivals that of St. George's Hall itself, and 
within, a light and graceful roof, self-supported by a 
complex system of arches, braces and beams, springs in 
one wide sweep over the entire area. Close by is the 
Free Library, where the liberality of a private citizen has 
thrown open to the use of the public a large collection of 
books, and an extensive museum of art and natural history. 

On the opposite side of the Mersey is the town of 
Birkenhead, where a large park is thrown open to the 
public; a perfect Eden for retreat from the noise and 



ENGLISH AND AMERICAN PATRIOTISiM. 9 

clatter of the streets. Lovely lakes, and estuaries from 
the river, with swans playing upon their waters, agreeably 
diversify the scene, and the wildness of nature is well 
imitated by artificial hills and rocky defiles, so perfect as 
to deceive the eye at a careless view ; while thickets of 
plane wood and evergreens embellish the grounds, and 
extensive groves are scattered here and there, amid whose 
branches the birds are twittering cheerily, giving a rural 
character to the scene that is very refreshing. 

When in a foreign country a man always loves to talk of 
home, and will often find himself watching with no small 
degree of nervous curiosity, the tone and the manner in 
which his native land is spoken of, and the feelings which 
are manifested toward his government. New styles of 
thought, new forms of expression, new trains of feeling 
are opened to the stranger's observation ; and the basis of 
attachment to our own country, he soon detects to be 
different according to the circumstances which surround 
the human family. While patriotism is, perhaps, a uni- 
versal sentiment in the mind of man, and the lines of 
Montgomery — 

'< There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
Seek you that land? Know then, where e'er yon roam, 
That first, best country, ever is at home" — 

are applicable to as great a variety of men as any other 
that can be selected, yet we find the grounds of attachment 
almost equally various, and often the sarcastic repartees 
that pass from people to people, through the medium of 
the press, are based in a failure to recognize in each other 
the essential ingredients of that sentiment which, in some 
form, is common to the entire race of man. 

Hence it is that the English and Americans can scarcely 
understand each other's patriotic feelings. They spring 
from a different class of emotions, and cluster around 
different parent stems. Patriotism with us, is emphatically 
a love of country. At no remote period our fathers settled 
this virgin soil ; they redeemed it from its native wildness, 
and clothed it with luxuriant harvests ; they checkered the 
land with innumerable farms, and dotted it with countless 



10 PATRIOTISM. 

households, where comfort nnd happiness abide, where a 
man is supreme lord of his little spot of earth, and enjoys 
the utmost measure of independence consistent with the 
well-being of society. They fought and fell, that the 
blessings of freedom might be transmitted to their posterity, 
and bequeathed to us a legacy of liberty and honor, of 
which we may well be proud. We feel that our country 
is peculiarly our own ; and cling to her with all the fond 
affection of a bridegroom for his youthful bride. 

With them the case is different. Their patriotism is 
rather a pride of country. Their history ranges back 
through centuries of power and glory. Their antique 
churches, their ruined abbeys, their frowning castles, point 
backward to a remote antiquity, and form a connecting link 
between the busy present and the dim and misty past. 
Their ancestors have lived for ages on the estates of the 
same line of titled nabobs, and their aristocratic blood 
flows in unsullied purity through bodies not contaminated 
with plebeian dross ; and the Englishman retires within 
himself in sullen pride, and looks around on neighboring 
nations with the stern and haughty grandeur of his patron 
lion. His ancestors fought under the banner of an Alfred 
and an Edward — ours under the banner of Freedom. 
They established a crushing system of caste, where talent 
is superseded by title ; we made every man a nobleman, 
and heir apparent to the throne. 




KIRKSTAL ABBEY. 11 



CHAPTER III. 

KIRKSTAL ABBEY — CONTRAST OF THE PRESENT AND PAST — 

VIEW OF THE RUINS FOUNTAINS ABBEY DISTANT 

VIEW — TRIBUTE TO MODERN IMPROVEMENT — THE LOCO- 
MOTIVE — EXPRESS TRAIN. IN GREECE. 

" I do love these ancient ruins ; 
We never tread upon them, "but we set 
Our foot upon some reverend history.'' — Webster. 

" Dark and gloomy shadows fall 
O'er the ivied abbey wall." — Dyer. 

the little village of Kirkstal, three miles from 
Leeds in Yorkshire, stand the ruins of a fine 
old 'abbey. It is situated in a beautiful green 
meadow, and is a magnificent relic of the olden time. 
These abbeys were formerly the residences of the monks, 
who wielded an unbounded influence over the human mind, 
hanging like a nightmare on society, sapping its intellec- 
tual power and palsying all its energies. 

When Henry VIII. committed the one good act of his 
reign — freeing his country from the benumbing influence 
of the Papal tyranny, and abolishing the monasteries 
which had degenerated, like other institutions of the 
Roman hierarchy, into festering dens of pollution — the 
monks were expelled from their livings, and their mighty 
temples confiscated to the crown and abandoned to solitude 
and decay. Their leaden roofs were removed, and the 
mighty walls now rear their -giant forms to the winds and 
rains of heaven ; the massive pillars and the lofty towers 
lift up their heads to the open sky, a dense foliage of ivy 
has usurped the place of the tapestry and gilded orna- 
ments of former days, and those cloistered aisles and 
solemn halls that erewhile resounded with the doleful 
chantings of the monks, are silent and solitary, save when 
they echo the tread of the curious traveler, or when the 
joyous bird flits through their noble portals and pours 
forth its cheerful song. The day was dark and gloomy, 
and favorable to contemplation. I chanced to be alone 
amid these deserted ruins, and for some time 'could not 
even find a guide. 



12 VIEW OF THE RUINS. 

While ruminating on this scene of beautiful desolation, 
admiring the ever varying perspective of the view as I 
rambled through those ancient halls, I was aroused by the 
shrill scream of the locomotive ; and, looking out through 
the ruined and mouldering arches of centuries long gone 
by, I saw the steam chariot gracefully gliding along the 
grassy plain, the pride and wonder of the present age. 
The contrast startled me. Verily, thought I, the cunning 
hand of Time, playing with the complex network of 
human events, is weaving a motley web ; he is mingling 
the salient points of all ages in beauteous fantastic con- 
fusion ; the glories of the olden time, the wonders of the 
stagnant past, are dovetailed into the ever-flowing present, 
and the growing panorama is ever revealing the mighty 
achievements, the ceaseless improvements, but not the 
ultimate capabilities of man. 

From the grounds on the south a most beautiful view 
is obtained. The whole mass of ruins swells out in the 
finest perspective. A profusion of broken walls and 
crumbling arches, with the large bulk of the main build- 
ing in the background, gives a most impressive view of 
the ravages of time. Ten or twelve large trees are 
growing in the old apartments of the monks, and toss 
their giant branches in the breeze, as if to tell at once of 
the frailty and the durability of these proud works of 
man. The crumbled walls are again crumbling away, and 
the piles of rubbish mouldering to dust, over which the 
beautiful but sombre ivy climbs in graceful wreaths, 
screening the repulsive features of decay with a mantle 
of living green, and decking with a mimic tracery of life 
this mass of ruined ruins ruining. While indulging the 
thoughts which such a scene would naturally excite, a 
sudden gleam of sunshine broke from behind a parted 
cloud and streamed through the broken portals and ragged 
arch-ways, throwing a flood of golden light over the lofty 
walls and the ivy-mantled tower, bringing out a most en- 
chanting perspective of light and shade, and revealing a 
new and enrapturing charm in the mysterious magic of 
desolation. 

Fountain's Abbey, near the city of Ripon, is another 



fountain's abbey. 13 

ruin of a similar character. It is situated in a fine park 
several miles in circuit, through which graveled walks, 
bordered by shady avenues of trees, lead to places where 
beautiful views are obtained, and a carriage-way winds 
around the outskirts of the enclosure, through a treble 
arbor of fine old English oaks and elms, gnarled and 
k craggy with age, while a crystal stream sparkles along 
beneath tufts of verdure, and winds among beds of bril- 
liant flowers. The ruins stand at the base of a lofty cliff, 
from the top of which you look down upon a grass-covered 
valley beneath and the abbey reposing in its bosom, while 
the lantern tower, with its naked stone walls in perfect 
preservation, rises far above you, finely contrasting with 
the luxuriant green of the plain on which the ruins stand. 
Cautiously descending the cliff, you find yourself sur- 
rounded by piles of massive masonry, that long centuries 
ago had fallen into ruin. These colossal relics of a former 
age, seemingly tottering to their fall, look down upon you 
with that mystic gaze that inspires a superstitious awe. 
A sparkling stream runs foaming among the ruins, tumbling 
over a series of artificial falls, and enlivening the green 
with its moisture and its music, while the hills on either 
side are set with trees thickly interspersed with evergreens, 
and the valley below gradually widens out into a dense 
grassy sod, till a considerable spur of the hill shoots across 
its course and sends it sweeping off to the left. 

Standing on the ancient altar at the eastern end of the 
church, the beautiful ruin opens out before you in mag- 
nificent proportions — arches swelling over arches, and 
pillars receding beyond pillars, till the eye is bewildered 
with the gaze. At your back rises the grand opening of 
the eastern window; on either side a Gothic arch of lofty 
height enters the noble transept ; before you the whole 
immense area, divided by two rows of grand old pillars 
into a central nave and two side aisles, stretches away to 
the further end of the building, where the splendid arch 
of the western window gives a glimpse of a beautiful 
landscape beyond through the ancient stone' trellis-work 
which still retains its place. 

My guide took me a long walk down the stream, stop- 



14 TRIBUTE TO MODERN IMPROVEMENT. 

ping at intervals to view the landscape j then wound up a 
hillside, and came to a pretty little house with a double 
door in front — a thicket of trees on either side totally 
obscuring the view of the valley below. He bade me 
stand in a particular place he pointed out, well worn by 
many feet, then suddenly flinging open the doors, a scene 
of such enchanting beauty burst upon my view that I 
involuntarily shouted with wonder. The gray old abbey 
stood full before me in all its hoary grandeur, mellowed 
and softened by the distance, and contracted till the eye 
could take in the whole at a glance, contrasting so finely 
yet harmonizing so perfectly with the grassy lawn, with 
the deeper green of the hillsides, and the clear and spark- 
ling stream, that the picture was perfect in every feature, 
and the whole scene bordered so nearly on enchantment, 
that I could scarce believe it real. 

And here a passing tribute is due to the Genius of 
modern improvement. A countless throng of inventions, 
any one of which would serve to illustrate a generation, 
must be passed over in silence, for ours is emphatically 
the age of progress ; improvements and discoveries are 
crowding upon us with such startling rapidity, that we even 
stand appalled at the wonders of science and art ; and we 
will choose as their representative the great ultimatum of 
all, the masterpiece of mechanical ingenuity — the locomo- 
tive and his wondrous train of cars. If labor is the 
destiny of America, as our great Webster has said, most 
nobly is she fulfilling her mission. Xerxes did not 
level Mount Athos; but the Irishman's drill, his bar 
and pickaxe, under the direction of Yankee enterprise, 
have practically leveled the American continent. That 
haughty monarch did not hew the mountain into a statue 
of himself, but the Genius of universal improvement hos 
stamped its impress upon the face of the civilized world. 
The ancients had their Pegassus, the flying steed of the 
Muses, but our Fulton, with true Yankee impertinence, 
captured the fractious deity, and set him to work on our 
rivers, from whence he was afterward transferred to the 
land. 

Scarcely were the heroes of ancient romance transported 



THE LOCOMOTIVE. 15 

with more celerity from place to place by the will of their 
fanciful genii, than is the man of business or pleasure of 
the nineteenth century. We have reduced to practice 
the extravagances of fiction in which our forefathers in- 
dulged. We have realized the magical tales of yore, and 
the wildest dreams of centuries long gone by. We mount 
the steam chariot as the sun declines to rest ; an invisible 
power hurries us forward ; impenetrable darkness envel- 
opes us ; we feel a tremor and a slight swaying from side 
to side, but the eye detects no succession of landscape ; 
and yet when the morning dawns we find that we have 
been plunging through the night with fearful velocity. 

Yes, Pegassus has been caught at last, and partially 
domesticated : the halter has been thrown over his neck 
and the bit placed in his mouth, that mortal man may 
control him in safety. His ethereal limbs have been 
hampered by material shackles, and while all the fire of 
his more exalted nature remains, Jie has been doomed to 
drudgery and toil. He has been harnessed to Brother 
Jonathan's pleasure cart, where he is restive and uneasy, 
yet compelled to submit to his master's bidding till the 
word of command is given, when he prances off proudly 
and majestically in his harness, " champing his iron curb/' 
but guided by a steady rein. He thunders rapidly over 
his iron pathway, ever and anon sending forth his pierc- 
ing shriek and startling the echoes of the neighboring 
glens ; now plunging precipitately into the bosom of the 
earth, he pierces the heart of the everlasting hills, and his 
iron tread is drowned to a subdued and muffled roar — his 
breath is stifled, and he labors on in his subterranean career ; 
and now, rejoicing in his escape from the regions of 
darkness and gloom, and fluttering his semi-spiritual 
pinions, he soars to majestic heights and encircles the 
brow of the mountain ) and anon he descends to the 
blooming plain in his impatient haste to be gone, speeding 
rapidly along the awe-stricken valley, and gliding like a 
fairy being on the margin of the crystal river. 

The passage of a rail road train at night is to me a sub- 
limely fearful thought. Familiar as I am with the event, 
I cannot realize the grandeur of the fact till my ears are 



16 EXPRESS TRAIN IN GREECE. 

arrested with the thrilling sound. Then the bonds of 
fancy are broken, and the wildest ideas play at random 
through niy brain, challenging, and yet defying expres- 
sion ; while the unearthly yell of the steam horse, as it 
comes crashing on the midnight air, sends a thrill of horror 
to my heart, and his flashing eye, set in the middle of his 
forehead, throws a fitful glare in my window that plays 
for a moment on my paper, and the whole scene reminds 
me of one of those terrible tales of enchantment that fired 
the fancy of the middle ages ; or of the advent of that 
fearful period when all human works shall fall "amid the 
wreck of matter and the crush of worlds." 

"What a thrill of emotion beats in my bosom as this 
spirit of beauty glides by ! I feel myself proudly identi- 
fied with the loftiest age of man, and can stretch forth my 
hand in the majesty of science and art and lay it on what 
part of the world I choose. But Pegassus is past; the 
thunder of his footstep is dying away; his indignant 
snort is now scarcely audible ; his fiery breath no longer 
stifles my struggling lungs; the majesty of his presence 
no more oppresses me ; and my thoughts are again sinking 
to a calm repose. 

I have often thought if one of our splendid trains of 
the present day had dashed screaming and thundering 
over the blooming fields of Greece on some balmy vernal 
morning ; had threaded the streets of Athens, and flashed 
by the columns of the Parthenon ; had sped through the 
vale of Tempe, and over the flowery plains of Scio ; then 
fled from the earth for ages, and been only a myth of the 
past; what would have been the effect on the Grecian 
poetry ? How would it have fired the fancy of glorious 
old Homer ! How would he have strove forever, and 
yet in vain, to picture to others the sublime concep- 
tions which this Vision of Wonder would have aroused in 
his mighty mind ! 

But our modern Pegassus is fast becoming ubiquitous. 
Wherever Commerce rattles her sounding wheels, there 
he is ; no longer the Steed of the Muses but the Genius 
of Civilization. The echoes of his piercing shriek resound 
through the valley of the Nile ; they climb to the dizzy 



YORK. 17 

peak of the pyramid of Cheops j they are caught in the 
sombre aisles" of the columned halls of Karnak* and they 
mingle with the murmur of the Memnou at old Thebes. 
His wanderings extend to the deserts of Arabia, and he 
is again carrying the pillar of cloud by day, and of fire 
by night, to the land where the Israelites roamed; while 
the thunder of his iron footsteps rumbles through the 
rocky defiles of the sacred mount of Sinai, floats along 
the shores of the coral sea to the plains of Ezion-Geber, 
and dies away in a doleful sound on the sands of the 
desolate Edom. 



CHAPTER IV. 

YORK MINSTER — INTERIOR — MUSIC — FIVE SISTERS — GREAT HIS- 
TORIC WINDOW — VIEW FROM TOWER — PROCESSION OF THE 
JUDGE OF ASSIZES — CITY WALLS — POPULATION OF ENGLAND. 

" How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, 
To bear aloft its arched and pondrous roof, 
By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, 
Looking tranquility ! It strikes an awe 
And terror on the aching sight. * * * 
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice : 
* * * My own affrights me with its echoes." — Congreve. 

)HE city of York, in the north of England, contains 
about forty thousand inhabitants. Its most 
Mz prominent feature is the glorious Minster* — a 
Gothic building of the purest type, dim and dingy with 
age* The walls are braced by flying buttresses, which fall 
off in successive steps, and terminate in a perfect wilder- 
ness of pinnacles rising above the square. Two lofty 
towers at the western end, and another in the centre 
constitute, together with the numerous pinnacles, the 
chief features of the upper outline of the building. The 
walls are ornamented with a profusion of fanciful statuary 
of the most grotesque character, occupying niches here 

*This wonderful church, five hundred and twenty-five feet 
in length, and the central tower of which rises two hundred* 
and thirty-six feet high, dates back to the seventh century. 




18 YORK MINSTER. 

and there, projecting fantastically from the eaves, or 
glaring clown with hideous grin as they start out from 
the solid wall. They consist of heads of animals and 
serpents, goblins and griffins, with every conceivable 
horrid expression ; the human countenance distorted with 
passion and transformed into the most x frightful fiends ; 
and the wildest ideals of terror and dread are embodied 
in the odd and quaint decorations of this noble church. 
The imposing effect produced by the disposition and pro- 
portion of the different parts ; the greatness of the design, 
where the strictest unity is maintained, the noble portals, 
the trellised window arches, and the general air of an- 
tiquity, make it one of the most grand and magnificent 
buildings in England. 

On entering for the first time, the stranger is bewildered 
with the grandeur of the scene. The giant columns 
and lofty arches, the gorgeous choir and the resplendent 
windows flashing with many-tinted glass, almost overpower 
the mind; while above you swells a misty opening, 
floating upward in the central tower, as though it would 
fathom the skies. I sat down amid the crowd and gave 
full scope to my admiration. While the congregation 
were sitting in silence, the old church bell on the top of 
the. tower struck the hour of eleven, and the sounds, 
mellowed and softened by the reverberations, till the 
strokes were scarcely audible, went floating away through 
those glorious halls like the music of fairy land. When 
the organ struck up its swelling notes, and the voices 
joined in the hymn, the volume of sound went sweeping 
along till the old church rang again, and the echoes played 
through the arches and aisles, as the anthem rose and fell, 
and died away at each measured close, in a sweetly linger- 
ing strain. 

On every side the most gorgeous windows surrounded 
me, through whose stained glass of every hue the sunlight 
streamed in a flood of subdued and softened radiance, 
filling the interior with that " dim religious light" so 
perfectly in harmony with the design of a cathedral. 
.One especially, on the south side, called the Five Sisters, 
a window over fifty feet in height, in five equal divisions, 



PROCESSION OF THE JUDGE. 19 

is decorated with historic scenes in colored glass; and a 
large circular window over the northern entrance, present- 
ing a complicated system of scroll work, are among the 
prominent features of this church that impart to it a 
brilliancy and a glory that well sustain its high reputation. 

But the crowning glory of the whole is the magnificent 
western window, seventy-five feet in height and thirty- 
two wide ; a Gothic arch filled with a most elaborate system 
of trellis work, in the interstices of which is a complete 
hieroglyphic history of the church in designs in stained 
glass, from the creation to the end of the fourteenth 
century. It is protected on the outside by a screen 01 
strong wire. This is one of the finest windows in exist- 
ence. But one other equals it — in one of the old cathedrals 
of the continent. 

After the service closed, I lingered long in the beautiful 
nave, and then climbed to the top of the tower. It was 
a tedious and tiresome task, but the extensive prospect 
well repaid the labor. The city of York was clustered 
close around my feet, a wide expanse of open country 
stretched far away on every side, over which the rail road 
trains went speeding their way in every direction, and the 
rivers Ouse and Foss glittered in the sunlight, as they 
pursued their winding course to the sea. 

The procession of the Supreme Judge of Assize to 
attend church, according to the ancient forms of the city 
of York, is an interesting ceremony. For some years 
thoughts have been entertained of abandoning it as a 
worn out vestige of the past; but the Queen requested that 
it be continued on account of its high antiquity, and her 
request in a ease like this, is law to her loving subjects. 
The procession at this time consisted of first, eleven pike- 
men dressed in the uniform of the high sheriff of York. 
The pikes are about seven feet long, and shaped like an 
Indian tomahawk, except that the poll is pointed and 
turns backward, and a long blade projects in front. Be- 
hind these marched the musicians, with brass instruments, 
playing the national airs. Then came the judge's car- 
riage drawn by two beautiful dapple brown horses. The car- 
riage was of a brilliant azure blue, richly ornamented ; and 



20 POPULATION OF ENGLAND. 

coachmen, footmen and pages were in most costly livery. 
The judge, dressed in his gown and wig, with a sash of 
red and black silk, entered to the music of the band : 
the high sheriff and under sheriff accompanied him, and 
sat uncovered ; when the procession moved off to the 
Minster and the band played while they entered. 

But here is another interesting antiquity. York was 
formerly a "fenced city/' and the walls are still nearly 
perfect, varying perhaps from eight to twenty feet high, 
according to the ground. They are about seven feet 
thick, with a foot-walk on top, the outer edge of the wail 
projecting high enough, however, to protect a person from 
the arrows of the attacking force. Loop-holes are fre- 
quent, and the triangular capstones are here and there 
omitted to allow the defenders to shoot without being too 
much exposed. Watch-houses occur at intervals in the 
base of the walls, with loop-holes for the lookout. These 
walls are preserved with great care, as mementoes of a 
high antiquity. 

The population of England is enormous. In area it is 
but little larger than the State of New York, and it con- 
tains about as many inhabitants as all our free States. It 
would be rather a startling idea to Americans to have an 
elastic band stretched around all our northern States, 
including California and Oregon, and then let it contract, 
keeping all our teeming myriads of people within its 
diminishing enclosure, till we were all cooped up in the 
Empire State ; yet in this case we would be no more 
thickly settled than is the little territory of England at 
the present time. Hence large towns are very numerous ; 
towns which with us would be large cities. In many parts, 
of the country it is nothing uncommon to have two, three, 
or even four in view at one time. Everywhere the land 
is cultivated to the highest degree, wherever the nobility 
condescend to throw it open to the poor, and if Goldsmith's 
lines relate a historic fact when he says, 

"A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground maintained its man," 

there could scarcely have been a heavier tax levied on the 
natural fertility of the soil than is now extracted from it 



LONDON. 21 

by the labor of her toiling peasantry. Hence it will 
readily be conceded that England is not a self-supporting 
country. Her teeming millions are dependent on foreign 
labor, and to a very great extent on America, for bread. 
By a singular defect in her social policy, to which perhaps 
she was driven by her overflowing population, she is so 
completely dependent on foreign aid, that were she to 
become involved in a general war, and her commerce to 
be temporarily checked, or were her ports effectually 
blockaded for a single month, starvation would stare her 
full in the face. Hence with her it is a matter of absolute 
necessity to maintain her power at sea. It is her only 
safeguard. Without this her boasted empire would van- 
ish, and her imperious pride would fall. 



CHAPTER V. 

LONDON — A WORLD IN MINIATURE — MOTLEY TIIRONG IN HER 
STREETS — PUBLIC WORKS — GREAT FEATURES — ARRIVAL — 
ST. PAUL'S BY LAMPLIGHT — CLASSIC GROUND. 

" ' Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat 
To peep at such a world: to see the stir 
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; 
To hear the roar she 6ends through all her gates 
At a sale distance, where the dying sound 
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear." — Coioper. 

^UT the glory of England is her capital. Would 
las y ou f° rm an i^ ea °f London ? As well might you 
attempt to grasp the majesty of Mont Blanc. It 
contains three millions of people. Three millions of 
people ! It is easy to set this down in figures ; you can 
tell it over in words; you can repeat and re-repeat it, 
with all the marvelous intonations of inflection and em- 
phasis; and every time you dwell upon its mighty sum 
your ideas will expand, your conceptions will enlarge till 
you have at last acquired the power of picturing to your 
fancy a faiut image of a great city, and there you must 
forever stop ; you can never mount up to the full grandeur 
of your theme. I care not how familiar you may be with 




22 A WORLD IN MINIATURE. 

her streets, or bow long you may have loitered in her 
halls of science and art ; I care not how often you may 
have surveyed the wondrous scene from the golden ball 
on the top of St. Paul's, or how often you may have 
lingered amid the ceaseless throng that hurries over Lon- 
don Bridge ; your conceptions of the real grandeur and 
sublimity of London must forever remain inadequate. 

It may assist us a little in forming an approximate idea 
of this exceeding great city, to reflect that her population 
is equal to that of Ohio, and if the people of that great 
State were all crowded together in Cincinnati, they could 
only reproduce a London. Its compactly built portions 
and its extensive parks, cover a solid area of more than 
twenty-five" square miles; while a much larger additional 
space- is covered by the suburbs, including some open 
country and neighboring pleasure grounds, making per- 
haps as much as thirty-six square miles of solid buildings, 
including the principal parks and the water surface of the 
•Thames. By the assistance of such statistics as these, 
the understanding may perhaps be enabled to comprehend 
what the fancy will ever vainly endeavor to realize. 

London is a world in miniature. Wh atever the mind 
of man admires in the productions of art or the revela- 
tions of science, is here presented to his view. Whatever 
phase human nature assumes in its moral or its intellectual 
development, is found amid her countless throngs. Here 
the Alpine peaks of Intellect are gilded by the sunlight 
of transcendent genius, while at their feet stretch wide 
Saharas of ignorance and degradation j here the pious and 
virtuous glory in the light of true religion, and build their 
faith upon the Bock of Ages, while countless myriads 
welter in the dark fens of pollution and the murkj^ bogs 
of profanity ; here are found the steppes of a cold and 
lifeless formality, where rank and riches contend in a 
ceaseless struggle for precedence and priority ; here 
expand the verdant meadows, and the rolling prairies of 
the middle ranks of life, where sparkling streams of humor 
and good fellowship wind among the choicest flowers of 
intellect, and the blooming gardens of contentment and 
social equality : and here again is the Dismal Swamp of 



CROWDED STREETS. 23 

Sorrow. The world knows no achievement of art, no 
refinement of science, which is not at once transmitted 
to this social centre ; every thought that agitates the mind, 
every sensation that quivers the nerves Of humanity, is at 
once transmitted to London, as the heart of the civilized 
world. 

Her streets of palaces, where flutter the gilded moths 
of fashion; her thronging business marts, where the 
clang of commerce and the rush of anxious crowds are 
fearful and incessant ; her narrow, filthy, crooked lanes, 
where poverty and crime reside j her stately temples, 
dedicated to religion or art, to science or legislation j her 
expansive parks, where you can almost lose yourself in 
rural seclusion j her turbid Thames, where floats the flag of 
every nation under heaven, are essential elements in a 
crude conception of London. 

Through her streets flows a motley crowd of human 
life. Here a gay young belle, the pet of pride and fashion, 
dashes along in her chariot, with a smile of contempt or 
a frown of scorn for the race of man in general ; here the 
stately nobleman makes a pompous display of his dignity 
and his wealth ; the industrious merchant hurries forward, 
absorbed in his own reflections; the cool observer leisurely 
saunters along, surveying the scene with calm but absorbing 
interest; the patient laborer plods his weary way with heavy 
steps, or pursues contentedly his daily toil ; while crowds of 
hungry beggars assail you, from the lisping child who is 
thoroughly schooled in crime, to the wretched old crone of 
three score years and ten, tottering along on her staff, and 
asking for a ha'-penny, familiarly coupling the Sacred Name 
with the pitiable and yet impudent petition ; and the guar- 
dian genius of society — the ever-present policeman, with 
his staff of ofl&ce and his uniform of blue — ever mingles 
with the surging throng, to protect the peaceful traveler 
by the aggis of the law, and guide the bewildered stranger 
through the solitudes of this vast city. 

The Public Works of London are on a scale of grandeur 
and magnificence unequaled in the world. Take one item 
of her statistics, based upon figures, which, it is said, cannot 
lie. According to the official reports of the proper author- 



24 PUBLIC WORKS. 

ities, the gas companies of tins enormous city have twenty- 
four thousand miles of pipe ; hence, in theory, they could 
supply the whole of New Zealand with light from their 
present location; could send a jet to Australia, and another 
to Cape Horn ) and the water companies could turn a jet 
of water on each flame and extinguish it. 

And on such a scale are the works of London ! Her 
libraries number millions upon millions of volumes ; her 
scholars acknowledge no superiors ; subterranean railways 
are tunneled for miles under her crowded thoroughfares ; 
Astronomy would lose absolutely nothing if every other 
record in the world were destroyed, if only the vast reposi- 
tories of Greenwich Observatory were preserved ; St. Paul's 
and the Parliament Houses are among the glories of modern 
architecture, as Westminster Abbey is of the antique ; her 
wonderful Palace of iron and glass seems like the crystal- 
lization of a poet's^vision; while in the British Museum 
are contributions from every department of science, dona- 
tions from the combined talent of mankind, and treasures 
from all ages of the world ) fragments from Babylon that 
date back twenty-three centuries before Christ; and 
mummies, for aught we know, of those who were slain 
in that fearful night when the dread angel of Death 
passed through the streets of the rebellious cities, and cut 
off in his anger all the first-born of Egypt. 

It was late in the evening when we landed, and the 
realities of London life first opened upon me by lamp- 
light, in a dim and misty night. I pressed through the 
crowd that thronged around the station, and plunged all 
friendless and alone into that surging tide of human life, 
that incessantly goes eddying in giddy whirls through 
Fleet street and the Strand. 

And I am at last in London ! Its wonders of nature 
and art are no longer looming up in delusive perspective 
in the dim and distant Orient. The ideals of beauty that 
have floated through the master minds of the world, and 
have sprung into form and substance by their magic 
touch, are now within my grasp, and the glowing visions 
of childhood are about to be realized. Having secured 
lodgings, and finding myself near St. Paul's ; I could not 



ST. PAUL'S BY LAMPLIGHT. 25 

rest without seeing it, but started out again to taste the 
rapture of a first glimpse of this wondrous temple. Never 
did I feel myself on classic ground till the long line of 
Fleet street opened up before me with its stately buildings, 
its hoards of untold wealth, its giddy whirl of business 
and pleasure, its sacred memories and historic associations. 

Passing down Fleet street and up Ludgate Hill, the 
giant bulk of St. Paul's rose dim and indistinct like a vast 
shadowy pyramid in the misty gloom of night. I walked 
around the mighty fabric, which the feeble glare of the 
lamps rendered dimly visible, but the mighty dome swelled 
upward far beyond the reach of the faint illumination, 
and I gazed up into the blackness of night, vainly endeav- 
oring to catch an outline of its giant proportions. 

I then retraced my steps, visited Temple Bar, passed 
through its ancient arch, and walked the length of the 
Strand to Charing Cross, where stands a proud monument 
to Nelson ; then back weary and exhausted to my lodgings. 
I can scarcely realize that I have walked the length of 
Fleet street and the Strand ; that I have visited Temple 
Bar and Charing Cross ; that St. Paul's has blessed my 
outward vision, as it has long been burned upon my mental 
eye ; and that Westminster Abbey, the British Museum, 
and the Crystal Palace, are at last clustered around me, 
offering a rich reward for my wild and wayward wanderings. 



CHAPTER VI. 

8T. paul's — exterior — wren's triumph — interior — dome — ■ 

REQUIEM FOR PRINCE ALBERT WHISPERING GALLERY — VIEW 

FROM GOLDEN GALLERY — IN THE BALL — CRYPT. 

* * " That wondrous dome, 
To which Diana's Temple was a cell." — Byron. 

§T. PAUL'S is the chief architectural feature of 
London. This glorious church, with its enor- 
mous dome, is the most prominent object in every 
distant view of the city. It occupies a central position 

o 




26 ST. PAUL'S. 

on somewhat elevated ground, and is seen to great 
advantage from a distance, rising amid a wilderness of 
spires, far above every other object • but, unfortunately, 
hemmed in by buildings encroaching on the surrounding 
space, so that from no one point can the whole church be 
seen to advantage. 

The walls are ornamented by two series of columns in 
relief, the lower of the Corinthian, the upper of the 
Composite order. The entablatures are massive and 
elegant. A projecting portico, with a heavy colonnade of 
pillars sweeping around it, stands at the entrance of the 
south transept. A high arch is thrown over the door- 
way, on the keystone of which is a phoenix, with the 
motto in Latin: "I shall rise again." The history of 
this stone is somewhat singular. St. Paul's was burned 
in the Great Fire of London in 1666, and while clearing 
away the rubbish for the foundation of the present 
structure, one of the master workmen selected a stone to 
draw a design upon, and on raising it, found it to be a 
keystone of one of the large arches, inscribed with the 
above figure and motto. This was reckoned an omen of 
the glory of the future church, and the stone was reserved 
to crown the arch of the principal entrance. Two lofty 
towers rise from the western end of the building, in one 
of which is the clock, with the great bell weighing five 
tons, which strikes the hours, and is tolled at the death of 
a member of the Royal family, or the Archbishop of 
Canterbury alone. Statues of the Apostles are placed on 
the western extremity of the roof, with St. Paul on the 
comb, and numerous pieces of statuary occupy niches in 
every part of the external walls. A colossal statue of 
Queen Elizabeth stands in the western yard, and the 
church is surrounded by a heavy iron palisade. 

The present building, 1 " which is of purely Grecian 
architecture, was erected by Sir Christopher Wren, who 

*The church is five hundred feet in length. The dome rises 
about three hundred and sixty feet, above which four iron pillars 
support a gilt ball eight feet in diameter, surmounted by a gilt 
cross fifteen feet high, making the entire height from basement 
four hundred and four feet. It was finished in 1710. 



INTERIOR. Si 

enjoyed the rare distinction of having planned and 
completed, from alpha to omega, one of the proudest 
temples of the world. He lived to see the mighty fabric 
rise to its perfect form ; through thirty-five years of 
unremitting toil, he saw the wondrous dome swell to its 
full proportions, all the minutiae of ornament fully 
developed, and every part harmonizing together in one 
great and perfect whole ; and, having thus realized the 
brilliant ideals of his prolific mind, he attended the daily 
services in his church for thirteen years, and died at the 
age of ninety-one. Pie lies in his own chosen resting 
place, under the aisle at the south side of the choir — his 
tomb a plain marble slab with a simple inscription, also 
of his own design. Many years after Dr. Johnson wrote 
his epitaph, remarkable for its simplicity, and for the 
appropriate tribute which it pays to the memory of the 
departed : *' Beneath your feet lies Sir Christopher Wren. 
Reader, if you would behold his monument, look around 
you ! » 

The interior is glorious ! and the first glance of its 
majesty, its grandeur, and its beauty, is totally over- 
powering. I stood beneath that mighty dome — the 
pride and wonder of the modern world, swelling out to 
such vast proportions, yet floating as light as a bubble 
in the misty expanse above me — so ethereal, fantastic and 
airy, with its grand old paintings in fresco, and its 
ornaments of burnished gold j and as I gazed up into its 
beautiful orb, my thoughts went roaming back, away 
through the long vista of years, illumined with the 
sunny memories of childhood's Elysian dreams, to the 
familiar scenes of home, where the fires of youthful 
enthusiasm and boyish wonder burned and glowed within 
me as I read the enchanting stories of London and St. 
Paul's. 

Massive pillars rise on either hand, from which spring 
light and graceful Roman arches, supporting the immense 
weight of the dome. The ceiling is one wide arch 
spanning the entire nave, and adorned by large circles 
of gilded wreaths, enclosing elegant ornaments in painting 
and gold. Many monuments are placed in different parts 



28 DOME. 

of the church, mostly to noted warriors — a very fine statue 
of Dr. Johnson stands by one of the pillars that support 
the dome, and two most beautiful angels, reclining their 
heads against their wings, on either side of one of the 
entrance doors. 

But the dome is the great feature of this proud edifice. 
The inside diameter of the base is one hundred and forty 
feet, and the crown of the arch rises two hundred and 
fifty feet above the floor. It is divided into eight 
compartments, by borders representing pillars painted 
on its inner surface, each containing a large painting 
in fresco, representing a scene in the life of St. Paul — 
his conversion, his shipwreck, shaking the viper in the 
fire, preaching at Athens, &c. In the centre a large 
opening, surrounded by an ornamental railing, lets down 
a flood of light from the smaller dome or lantern above. 
The inner surface of this lantern is also elegantly painted 
and gilded, and wreaths are flung from side to side, which 
greatly increase the beauty of the scene. Verily the dome 
of St. Paul's is a master-piece. The perfection of its finish 
may challenge the closest scrutiny, and the grandeur of its 
conception leaves nothing to desire. 

At the close of the sermon the magnificent organ played 
a requiem for Prince Albert, and so mournful was the 
strain, that it seemed to infuse a sadness into every breast ; 
while the low, deep, solemn bass, went rolling through the 
crypt beneath our feet, like the heavy rumble of distant 
*hunder, and it seemed the very echo of a nation's groans. 
jlh3n the tune rose to a lighter air, and spoke of religious 
hope and the life beyond the grave ; while still that low, 
deep bass kept rumbling on, mingling the regrets of mor- 
tality with the hopes" of the immortal; and ended in a 
swelling note of praise, and one long, deep, final burst of 
that mournful tone, that seemed to shake the very founda- 
tions of the church, and then went rolling and reverbe- 
rating through the arches on high, like the lingering notes 
of woe that rang through the mountains of Jewry, when 
the curse was pronounced on her favorite city — a requiem 
fit to be sung for the slain at the battle of Armageddon. 

The efi'ect of that solemn bass was wonderful. An 



GALLERIES. 2 ( J 

awful peal of the heaviest sound would come bursting 
forth from the organ pipes, would ring through the lofty 
ceiling and play from aisle to aisle, and then for a moment 
was lost ; but the sound was caught in the vaulted dome, 
and sent crashing down with tremendous force, and the 
building quivered to its power. t 

A spiral flight of steps of very gradual ascent leads up 
to the whispering gallery at the base of the dome. This 
is merely the smoothly plastered curved surface, which 
carries the lowest whisper, if uttered with the mouth close 
to the wall, around the entire circumference, so it can 
be distinctly heard on the opposite side. Here a walk 
extends around the dome, protected by a railing, from 
whence the view is very' fine. You look down upon 
the Mosaic pavement of the church a hundred feet below 
you, where people, seemingly no larger than children, are 
passing to and fro, while you are brought nearer to the 
convex vault above; the paintings blaze forth in all their 
splendor, and the subdued light, presenting no strong 
contrasts of light and shade, yet bringing out every object 
in distinct relief, perhaps reveals one of the finest views 
which the genius of man has wrought. 

The stone gallery is a walk around the outside of the 
base of the dome ; but we will not linger here, splendid as 
is the view it presents : up, up, up we climb to the G-olden 
Gallery around the summit of the main dome, or base of 
the lantern, and now,, as we emerge from the narrow 
stairway up which we have been laboring, and step out 
on a fine circular gallery, protected by a stone railing, 
what a prospect bursts upon the view ! From this dizzy 
height we look down upon the myriads of people thronging 
through the streets beneath us, reduced to mere pigmies 
in size ; we survey the labyrinth of streets brauching off 
from this great centre ; we look down upon the loftiest 
steeples ; the habitations of millions of human beings are 
clustered beneath our feet; the Crystal Palace sparkles 
on the outskirts of the city like a vision of lovety enchant- 
ment; old father Thames comes sweeping down from 
beneath a misty cloud, and is again lost in the fogs and 
vapors of London, like the stream in the vision of Mirza; 
8* 



30 CRYPT. 

wo look down upon London Bridge, over which a ceaseless 
tide of human life is eternally hurrying on ; we survey 
the old historic Tower, whose walls are dim and diDgy 
with age, but radiant with the glory of the past j and 
we feel that the scene before us is one on which the 
greatest of men would be proud to gaze. 

But let us clamber up another*, hundred feet and enter 
the golden ball on the top of the lantern ; we must now 
climb by ladders, for at this height even the dome of St. 
Paul's is diminished to a moderate size; they finally become 
absolutely perpendicular, and at last we must squeeze our 
way between the iron pillars that support the ball. But 
we enter the circular apartment, where eight men would 
find close quarters, and at this sublime height of nearly 
four hundred feet above the ground, all is darkness and 
gloom — no windows, no loop-holes for a peep of the land- 
scape ; we have the honor for our pains. However, just 
below the ball a good view is obtained, but we are not so 
much at our ease, and see but little more than from the 
Golden Gallery. 

In the basement is the crypt, where repose the remains 
of many great men. Sir Christopher Wren lies under 
the south side of the choir ; at his feet lie the remains of 
his grand-daughter, who died in 1851, aged ninety-three. 
At his side, just beyond the iron railing enclosing his 
grave, lies Benjamin West — a painter-prince of whom 
America is proud. Sir Joshua Reynolds lies at West's 
feet, and a little to the left are the graves of Turner and 
Opie. The Duke of Wellington lies exactly under the 
centre of the dome, in a splendid marble sarcophagus, and 
Lord Nelson a short distance from him. The former 
church was so completely consumed in the great fire that 
the only relics are eight mutilated antique statues, said to 
be the father and mother of Sir Francis Bacon, Dr. Donne, 
and some other notables. The foundations are sunk six- 
teen feet below the basement floor into the solid earth. 
It is twenty feet from the basement to the main floor of 
the church above, and the whole number of steps leading 
up to the ball is five hundred and thirty-four. 



CRYSTAL PALACE. 31 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE CRYSTAL PALACE — THE PARK — GEOLOGIC ISLANDS — ENTRANCE 

OP THE NAVE ANCIENT COURTS — COURT OF THE ALHAMBRA 

HALL OP THE ABINCERIGES — VIEW PROM THE TOP OF THE 
TOWER — VIEW IN THE EVENING TWILIGHT — VIEW BY MOONLIGHT. 

" No forest fell 
When thou wast built ; no quarry sent its stores 
T enrich thy walls; * * * * a wat'ry light 
Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that seemed 
Another moon new risen, or meteor fall'n 
From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene. " — Ccnoper. 



[pj)HE Crystal Palace* at Sydenham, a few miles from 
London Bridge, is fairly entitled to be considered 

J£k one of the wonders of the world. It stands in 
a beautiful park on a rising ground, from which a fine 
view is obtained of Surrey and Kent on the one hand, and 
on the other of the city of London. The wonderful 
Palace crowns the summit of the hill. No description 
can convey an adequate idea of its beauty ! Composed 
entirely of iron and glass, and adorned with the most 
elaborate decorations of architecture, it must be seen to 
be realized. The main building, including two wings 
which project to the south, is over half a mile in length. 
It is crossed by three transepts, each rising in front in a 
high l\oman arch, from the centre of which the iron stays 
radiate to the circumference, forming a complicated trellis 
work. The entire building is an open frame work, or, in 

* The following statistics are collected from the guide books : 
The Park contains 300 acres. Length of main building, 1,608 
feet ; each wing, 574 feet ; colonnade leading from the railway 
station, 720 feet; total length,. 3,476 feet, or only 484 feet less 
than three-fourths of a mile, covered with glass. Length of 
central transept, 384 feet — each of the others, 336 feet. The 
central one is 120 feet wide, and 208 feet high from garden in 
front. From the floor, 108 feet to the springing of the arch of 
the central transept, which rises 60 feet high. Nave, 72 feet 
wide ; area of ground floor, 598,396 square feet. Total length 
of columns, 16|- miles ; weight of iron, 9,641 tons ; area of glass, 
25 acres ; length of paves, 242 miles ; bolts and rivets, 175 tons; 
nails, 103 tons ; brick base, 15,391 yards, colonnade not included. 



a'2 PARK. 

domestic language, sash of iron, filled with glass. Near 
each end of the building rises a circular crystal tower 
over two hundred feet in height. Conceive an immense 
bubble, blown up to giant proportions, and bound by 
innumerable filaments of black into an elongated form, 
and you have as correct an idea of the Crystal Palace as 
lies in my power to give you. 

The park in which the Palace stands is adorned with 
the most profuse decorations. In front a wide terrace is 
laid out in flower beds and gravel walks, interspersed with 
numerous pieces of statuary, and bordered along its outer 
limit with an iron railing on a wail which rises from the 
ground below. From this terrace a noble flight of steps 
leads down to the general slope of the park, where 
another large area is occupied with flower beds and gravel 
walks, fountains and waterfalls, and a profusion of statues, 
vases and urns. Here are several rosaries and green houses 
of the lightest and most airy construction ; arbors over which 
creeping plants weave a drapery of Nature's own handi- 
work; extensive beds blooming with the most brilliant 
rhododendrons, and comfortable seats disposed along the 
walks or nestled in shady nooks, where you can sit at ease 
and eDJoy the glories of the wondrous scene. 

Farther to the south the ground falls off to a rivulet 
that winds through the edge of the park, on the steep 
banks of which are arranged a series of artificial strata 
representing geologic formations of almost every character, 
and a lead mine is formed with blocks of rough stone, with 
the ore arranged in its natural state, through which you 
can pass beneath a rough, shaggy arch, with barely enough 
light to render the beautiful formations visible In 
another place, on the banks of the stream, and on islands 
which its waters surround, are sculptures as large as life, 
of the huge monsters of the pre- Adamite world, arranged 
as nearly as possible in the natural circumstances of that 
mystic period. 

• Upon landing at the Crystal Palace station, we mount 
a flight of steps, and enter the colonnade which leads up 
to the western wing. It rises a considerable grade, with 
frequent flights of steps, and presents nothing but an 



INTERIOR. 33 

empty blank interior till you enter the wing of the main 
building, which is mostly occupied with refreshment 
rooms. Gaudy advertisements are flaunted in your face, 
and you are greeted with the odor of culinary processes ; 
but the grandeur of the structure begins to open upon 
you — through the crystal walls you catch a nearer and 
nearer view of the mighty building, stretching away to 
the right, with its beauteous and airy perspective, till you 
finally pass through a simple doorway, and are ushered 
into the wondrous nave, where the glorious prospect bursts 
upon you with startling effect, and the glowing ideals 
which you have been picturing to yourself in the fervor 
of expectation, are now abundantly realized. 

In the centre of the nave just before you, is a large 
screen with plaster figures of all the sovereigns of England, 
in front of which is a colossal equestrian statue of 
Victoria, looking on the wonderful prospect. Taking 
your stand by her side, and looking down the vast 
expanse, you have perhaps as magnificent a view as the 
architecture of any age has presented. In front of you a 
complex net-work of beams, pillars and arches, mingling 
in intricate figures, as the perspective recedes in the 
distance, stretches away in bewildering beauty, and an 
exquisite glass fountain throws out its copious streams 
in a large marble basin bordered with a forest of tropical 
plants, among which hundreds of pieces of statuary are 
standing in quiet recesses, or arranged in picturesque 
groups, while the beautiful birds that flit from branch to 
branch, and make the palace ring again with their light 
and joyous songs, add a charm to this scene of trans- 
cendent beauty, which the world of art has not exceeded. 

Among the most attractive objects, is a series of courts 
or apartments, with restorations of the architecture of 
different ages and nations ; the court being fitted up in 
the general style of the age and place it is intended to 
represent, and adorned with appropriate ornaments. In 
the Grecian oourt, for instance, is a dwelling house of 
one of the better class of the people, and an apartment of 
one of their temples ; with a public square adorned with 
casts of Grecian statuary. The Roman and Byzantine 



84 HALL OF THE ABENCERIGE3. 

courts are similarly arranged ; while in the Egyptian 
court is the Hall of Columns from the great temple of 
Karnak, an exact reproduction of the original on a 
somewhat reduced scale. An Assyrian temple restored 
by Layard, with the winged bulls and other uncouth 
ornaments of that singular people ; columns whose capitals 
are the heads and shoulders of two bulls looking in opposite 
directions, with their fore legs doubled under them, and 
other grotesque decorations, seem to carry the spectator 
back beyond the ken of imagination, and place him among 
the strange realities and the incipient civilization of* that 
early day. Tn another court is a restoration of a dwelling-, 
house from Pompeii, whilst in front of the Nubian court 
are two statues of Kemeses the Great from his temple at 
Aboo Simbel, in a sitting posture, sixty-five feet high; 
exact copies of the original. 

But one of the most attractive scenes is a reproduction 
of several apartments of the Alhambra. The Hall of 
Justice is most beautifully ornamented with exquisite 
figures of filigree work, fanciful designs on the walls and 
ceiling, and large beds of flowers occupying a portion of 
the area. The Court of Lions is so named from a circular 
fountain in the centre, supported by eight lions, around 
which is a bed of flowers. This, however, is surely a pretty 
free license under the Koran, as a tenet of the Saracen 
creed forbids the use of images, even of animals. A 
corridor runs round the court, supported by a number of 
gilt pillars of light and graceful form. 

But the m.ost gorgeous apartment is the Hall of the 
Abenceriges. This room is perhaps twenty feet square, 
(two-thirds the size of the original), paved with white 
marble, with a circular fountain in the centre. The walls 
are set with alternate diamonds of white and black marble, 
to the height of five feet, "above which a zone of Arabic 
inscriptions, about six inches wide, encircles the room, and 
above this the most exquisite filigree work, representing 
fruits, flowers, vines and leaves, in natural colors, completes 
the walls. The ceiliug or roof is in the form of a high 
conical tent, hung with stalactites, which are colored with 
the most brilliant hues, blue, yellow, red, purple and gold. 



VIEW OF THE CITY. 35 

The only light admitted to this lovely hall, except that 
which flows through the entrance archways, is by four 
.small circular windows of deeply stained glass, placed 
near the apex of the cone. The effect is most exceedingly 
fine. The softened radiance which pours through these 
narrow openings is caught in that magic cone, and 
reflected from side to side, playing through the fciry 
vistas of that rainbow-tinted hall, and catching new glory 
from each successive reflection, as it imbibes the mingled 
tints of the numerous stalactites, and is thrown down to 
the eye of the beholder in a flood of transcendent beauty. 
Another apartment with a stalactite roof of pure milky 
white, is singularly chaste and beautiful. If such is the 
Alhambra, it is glorious ! 

In one of the transepts stands a fine specimen of the 
mammoth tree of California — merely the bark stripped 
from the trunk, and arranged around a frame of the 
proper size. The section is about one hundred feet high, 
and twenty-two in diameter at the base, diminishing but 
little to the top. 

From the summit of the eastern tower I had a most 
delightful view of the extensive gardens and park, with 
the Geologic Islands in the distance. The gardens were 
peculiarly beautiful, glowing with innumerable rhododen- 
drons, scattered here and there, or clustered in thick 
and fragrant beds, intermingled with flowers of every 
hue and trees of luxuriant verdure. In the distance the 
great gloomy city of London lay beneath a canopy of its 
own mists and vapors ; the mighty dome of St. Paul's 
swelling up above the fog, and the ball and cross glittering 
in unclouded sunshine; a hundred steeples rising from 
the semi-Christian city, and the country blooming with 
the freshness and verdure of spring. 

I descended and strolled again through the winding 
galleries and along the spacious nave. An apartment is 
appropriated to tropical plants : here is a forest of palms 
and bananas and other trees of the torrid zone ; and here 
the Victoria Regia blooms in its native glory. I lingered 
long in the Court of the Alhambra, and my fancy has 
clung to the Hall of the Abenceriges, fit to be the hall of 



36 ENCHANTING SCENE. 

the Fairies — so light, so elegant, so graceful, with its 
transcendent brilliancy of colors, and the mellowed 
mingling of different shades, as the most beautiful scene, 
in this gorgeous Palace of a world's wonders. 

In the evening twilight, when the glare of the sun was 
gone, and the fading lights mellowed the contrasts, the 
airy and gossamer-like effect of the vast labyrinth of 
lattice-work was beautiful beyond description. The strong 
shades and brilliant glare of sunlight, melting into the 
sombre tints and more uniform hues of evening, gradually 
mingled the varied objects both in color and outline, till 
the fancy had to come to the aid of the vision to trace 
the uncertain forms, and the distant parts of the crystal 
temple were totally lost to the view. 

And then the scene by moonlight from the extensive 
grounds in front of the Palace was near akin to enchant- 
ment ! The mighty fabric of wire-bound crystal, floating 
upward in the wavering light like a vision of life to a 
youthful mind, dim, misty, and evanescent, as though the 
Fairies were building a Bower of Bliss with the straggling 
beams of the moon, — seemed a realization of that glorious 
temple which Ezekiel saw with prophetic eye, or a mid- 
night dream of the Muses' bowers on the top of old 
Parnassus, that allures us with its delusive forms of 
fleeting and fantastic beauty, which we half expect will 
vanish away when the beams of the morning play upon it, 
or dissolve in the purple-tinctured air, when " a change 
comes o'er the spirit of our dream ! " 




BRITISH MUSEUM. 87 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE BRITISH MUSEUM — LIBRARIES — MANUSCRIPTS — READING ROOM 

GEOLOGIC OR NORTH GALLERY HUMMING BIRDS AND BIRDS 

OF PARADISE ZOOLOGICAL MONSTERS ANTIQUITIES ELGIN 

MARBLES — EGYPTIAN GALLERY — ASSYRIAN GALLERY — A VOICK 
FROM THE PAST. 

Golconda's wealth is here enshrined ; 
The treasury of a world. 

"They are the 
Registers, the chroniclers of the age 
They were made in, and speak the truth of history 
Better than a hundred of your printed 
Communications. "—Shakerly. » 

,jHE British Museum is one of the crowning glories 
of London. It is on a most gigantic scale — a 
wealth of entertainment and instruction, without 
a rival in the world. The building is of stone, with a 
heavy Ionic portico, and a magnificent flight of steps 
leads up to the noble entrance. It is a hollow square, with 
two exhibition floors, and several rooms in the basement. 
In the quadrangle in the centre of the building is the new 
Reading Room, for the convenience of the public in con- 
sulting the immense libraries. The Museum is a vast 
collection of treasures from the wide domain of nature, 
and the fruitful fountains of science and art, whose 
riches have been made tributary to this vast magazine of 
the curious and the wonderful, through whose spacious 
halls my fancy has restlessly wandered even from the early 
days of childhood. 

Upon entering this noble building, we find ourselves in 
a spacious vestibule with a lofty ceiling. At our left hand 
is a splendid stairway leading to the floor above ; but we 
will turn to the right, and passing through a lofty door, 
beside which stands a statue of Shakspeare in white 
marble, we enter the great Library, which is contained in 
the rooms on the ground-floor of the south-eastern portion 
of the building. Through this series of rooms of hundreds 
of feet in length, we pass amid thousands of volumes 
arranged on the shelves, and many of the more interesting 
4 



38 BRITISH MUSEUM. 

are exhibited in glass cases on centre tables. Amid this 
vast collection are some works of priceless value. A copy 
of the Codex Alexandrinus, containing the Greek text of 
the Holy Scriptures, written on very thin vellum, probably 
at the commencement of the fifth century, is of course 
preserved with the most extreme care. It can be examined 
only by special order from the chief librarian, and one 
of the attendants invariably sits by to see that no altera- 
tion is made in the text, which could easily be done, so as 
to obscure or change the meaning of particular passages. 
It is kept in a glass case, where all can see it, but none 
can handle without permission. There is a large, double 
roll, eighty-nine feet in length and twenty-six inches wide, 
containing the Pentateuch, written on goat skins, and 
mounted on rollers, probably dating back to the fourteenth 
century j also a copy in seven large volumes of the Koran 
in Arabic, written throughout in gold, with illuminated 
frontispiece, dating from 1305-6. These, with many 
others, are kept in glass cases, open to the view of all, 
but beyond the reach of any. 

The manuscript department is rich in literary curiosities, 
autographs of the world's great departed, deeds of king- 
doms and charters of cities of great antiquity and inesti- 
mable value, and fragments of the original manuscripts of 
works which the world has read. Here is the great 
Magna Charta — the guarantee of the liberties of England 
against the aggressions of an ambitious sovereign, extorted 
from King John by the twelve barons at Runnymede, on 
the 15th of June, 1215. It has been damaged by fire, 
and is almost illegible. A fragment of the great seal 
remains attached. 

But the manuscript to which perhaps the student looks 
with the most reverence, is the article of agreement 
between John Milton and Samuel Symes, for the sale of 
" a poem entitled Paradise Lost," dated 27th of April, 
1667. It has the poet's signature, with his seal of arms 
attached. Here is an autograph of Shakspeare, to an 
indenture granting a lease of a dwelling-house in Stratford- 
on-Avon. It was found some years ago among a mass of 
old waste papers, and was sold at auction. The Museum 



LIBRARY. 89 

bought it for two hundred guineas ($1,016.00). Here 
are letters and manuscripts in the hand-writing of Ariosto, 
Tasso, Luther, Chaucer, Spenser, Dryden, Addison, John- 
son, Scott, Burns and Thomson j a leaf of the last 
chapter of Lord Macaulay's History of England, written 
just before his death j a letter of the amiable Cowper, 
and several passages of the first sketches of Pope's Homer, 
on the backs of letters addressed to himself; and among 
the rest, are two old manuscripts, placed in fit proximity 
to the greatest names of England, on which an American 
may look with pride and exultation — a letter from George 
Washington during the Revolution, directing some im- 
provements in the defences of llhode Island, and one from 
Benjamin Franklin, while Ambassador to France. Besides 
these, and many others who have raised themselves to 
glorious positions in society, is an extensive collection of 
autographs of the crowned heads and titled dignitaries of 
Europe-. 

The Library contains five hundre'd thousand volumes, 
and is increasing at the rate of twenty thousand annually. 
The law requires that a copy of every work published in 
England shall be deposited here, and arrangements are 
made for procuring copies of all works printed in foreign 
countries. Thus a vast amount of useless trash is accu- 
mulating, that were it mingled with works of sterling 
value, would sadly dilute the whole. In a few years 
sufficient material will accumulate to enable some future 
Saracen to re-enact the tragedy of Alexandria without 
any serious loss to literature. 

The Reading Room is circular, one hundred and forty 
•feet in diameter, with a vaulted roof rising in a dome 
over a hundred feet high. It is divided into twenty 
compartments, by moulded ribs of iron, gilded with pure 
gold, in each of which is a circular headed window. The 
seats and tables for the accommodation of the readers, are # 
fitted up with every convenience that can be devised j 
and the superintendent occupies a slightly raised platform 
in the centre. It is his duty to have a general oversight 
of the room, and to assist the students in their investiga- 
tions when they may desire it. The room will accommo- 



40 GEOLOGIC DEPARTMENT. 

date over three hundred readers. Admittance is gained 
by recommendations from two responsible householders, 
who are liable for any injuries the applicant may cause 
to the books or other property. Applications must be 
renewed every six months. Once admitted to the high 
privilege of a reader in the Museum, a person has any book 
at his command which he may see proper to call for, except 
a few of priceless value, which require special orders from 
the officers, and which, as a general thing, none are allowed 
to examine save professional men, or those who have made 
considerable attainments in learning : and he can keep it 
through the day if he wishes to examine it at his leisure, 
but on no account whatever can he take it from the room. 
How great a privilege this is, those can partially appreciate 
who have seriously felt the want of rare and expensive 
works for reference, amid our rural districts or in our inland 
villages. 

From the library room we ascend a plain stairway near 
the north-east angle of the building, aod enter the North 
Gallery, in which is the Geologic Department : a series of 
rooms, six in number, occupying the northern side of the 
second floor, and containing fossil and mineral productions 
of the various strata, so arranged as to form a kind of 
panoramic history of creation from the earliest dawn of 
organic life, and even far back in the chaos which preceded 
that period, down through the untold centuries of the 
geologic ages, as it is recorded in those wondrous stony 
volumes, whose leaflets are the various strata, whose 
hieroglyphics are the casual impressions of animal and 
vegetable life, whose authority, when understood, is 
altogether unimpeachable, and whose records are second ■ 
only in importance to those of Divine revelation. 

In the first room are arranged specimens of the primi- 
tive formations and the oldest fossil remains ; ferns from 
the coal measures, and monads from the earliest stratified 
rocks, in endless variety and tasteful arrangement: in the 
second, the primitive forms of animal life, and vegetation 
of a more complicated character : in the third, those great 
uncouth monsters that sported in the waters and ranged 
the marshes of the carboniferous era, followed in the 



ZOOLOGICAL DEPARTMENT. 4 L 

remaining rooms by the mastodon and megatherium, and 
a great variety of their kindred tribes, the mammoth and 
the elephant of those primitive ages — the forerunners, 
perhaps, of the monsters of the present day. The whole 
series converges to, and closes in, the wonderful fossil 
human skeleton found in the island of Guadaloupe, as the 
end and final consummation of that mysterious principle of 
progression which seems to be the connecting link of the 
various periods of geology ; of which all these strange and 
singular forms of animal life were but the experimental 
types, so to speak, of the primitive efforts of nature, which 
gradually approached, and finally attained, their full and 
complete development in the perfect organization of man 
— creation's wondrous masterpiece*. 

Such is the great and sublime lesson taught by geology 
in connection and in harmony with Divine revelation. 
Such is an epitome which is here presented in a series of 
rocky deposits, of the Panorama of Creation, as it arose 
before the mind of the Shepherd Prophet, in a series of 
visions of retrospective prophecy, as he tended his flocks 
upon the plains of Midian, when the fervors of inspiration 
crept over him, and the mysterious origin of this world 
of life and beauty was revealed to his enraptured mind. 

The Zoological Department contains prepared specimens 
of almost every form of animal life, from the heavy cum- 
brous bulk of the hippopotamus to the light and springy 
autelope ; and thousands of birds, from the short thick 
feathers of the emew and the cassowary to the gossamer 
down of the cygnets of the Ganges ; from the dull gray, 
sombre covering of the owl, and the raven's robe of uniform 
mournful black, to the gorgeous pea-fowl, whose starry 
eyes are resplendent with Nature's inimitable dyes ; from 
the condor and the vulture, to the lovely little humming- 
bird — the very diamonds of the feathered creation, with 
their glittering crests and their azure breasts, and their 
plumage of purple and gold, and their sparkling head- 
dresses of tufts and top-knots, falling down in a mantle of 
beauty over their heads and shoulders, resplendent with 
colors that would rival the rainbow in purity — green, 
crimson, azure and violet, aud countless unnamable hues; 
4* 



42 BOTANICAL DEPARTMENT. 

and the gloriou3 Bird of Paradise ; what a paragon of 
perfection! — who can look upon this embodiment of 
beauty and feel no thrill of rapture trembling in his 
nerves ? and with its long tail feathers, so silken and 
gossamer like, fringed with an ethereal down of pearly 
virgin white, or dashed with the daintiest rose and crim- 
son, and its crowning plume of- delicate filaments, like 
the finest down of a thistle, seemingly too light, too fragile, 
too ethereal, to pass the stern ordeal of a life in the forest 
wilds ! 

In striking contrast with these lovely creatures are the 
awkward, uncouth figures of the. reptiles, lizards of inde- 
scribable forms, crawling things of horrid aspect, that 
infest the marshy regions of many lands ; serpents of 
voluminous train j beetles of unimaginable kinds, and 
butterflies glowing with the brightest hues ; forms of sea- 
life, strange and startling, thrusting their unwelcome 
visage on the shrinking eye ; and creatures that would 
rival the Centaurs of old, and mock the poet's dream of 
horror when he saw 

" Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire, 
All kinds of living creatures, new to sight and strange." 

A large proportion of the Zoological Department is occu- 
pied with the mammalia, where may be found prepared 
specimens of almost every animal that roams the woods 
and plains of any portion of the world. Here is the 
Gorilla — a wild, savage, powerful looking animal, 
approaching even nearer to the human form than the 
Ouran-Outang. 

The Botanical Department contains a large collection 
of woods from every clime : from Syria, Guatemala, 
Australia; the cedar of Lebanon, the mahogany, the 
banana, enveloped in the bark, roughly split, and finely 
polished ; specimens of the endogenous woods from 
■ tropical regions, with their pith-like cells and cord-like 
fibres, like cane-stalks overgrown j and, among the rest, 
a full-grown leaf of the Victoria Regia from Guiana, full 
three feet across, nearly circular. It is an aquatic plant, 
the leaf lying on the surface of the water, the edges 



ELGIN MARBLES. 43 

turned up, giving it a saucer shape, and the nerves on the 
lower side deep and strong, beiDg able to support a child 
of five or six years of age. Among the shells is one 
called the Glory of the Sea, from the Philippine islands, 
cone-shaped, and delicately figured, five or six inches in 
length, and rather slim. It is exceedingly scarce, and 
the Government paid eighty guineas ($406.40) for this 
specimen. 

The western division of the building is almost exclu- 
sively occupied by an immense collection of antiquities, 
among which are many of the famous statues of Greece 
and Konie, fragments from the Parthenon, and pavement 
tiles from Carthage, and a vast collection of the antique 
sculptures of the primeval world, when the human mind 
was first emerging from the chaos of ignorance and super- 
stition, and putting on the first rude semblance of order 
and beauty. 

The Elgin Marbles are a large collection of sculptures 
from Athens. They are so called because they were 
brought to England by Lord Elgin. In these I was dis- 
appointed. A few of them are in excellent preservation, 
many are much injured, and a large portion might almost 
be called a mass of shapeless. stone, as if a multitude of 
statues had been deprived of heads and extremities, then 
thrown into a heap and tossed among each other with 
rough violence, till every trace of the artificial surface was 
totally destroyed, and they retained a mere outline of their 
original form. The fact, however, of these blocks of marble 
having been wrought by the skillful hands of Phidias and 
Praxiteles, and their having for long ages formed the chief 
ornaments of the glorious old Parthenon, in which Pericles, 
Demosthenes and Socrates worshiped, invests them with 
. an interest and a value something more than visionary. 
It is strange what a magic charm attaches to an object 
otherwise trivial, which has in some way become identified 
with the world's great men. 

I must confess a thrill of emotion ran -through my 
nerves as I laid my hand reverently on these hoary relics 
of a remote antiquity, and reflected that amid these very 
blocks of stone the great ones of our race had assembled 



44 SCULPTURES. 

to perform the ceremonial rites of their intellectual 
idolatry j that Pericles placed them in their position as 
prominent ornaments of the great Temple of Minerva, 
and the embodiment of his idea of the beautiful ; that 
the eloquent words of Demosthenes had played among 
their mute assemblage, and the music of his voice vibrated 
from statue to statue, and from pillar to pillar, enveloping 
these fractured marbles in the mantle of his melody; 
and that Socrates looked upon them as he stood amid the 
throng of admiring votaries who crowded to hear his semi- 
Christian morality in the sacred shades of Academus, and 
in that most tragic moment of Attic story, when he had 
drank the deadly hemlock, obedient to the cruel mandate 
of his misguided country, and felt the faintness of 
approaching dissolution creeping over his aged limbs, he 
looked through his window to catch one more glimpse of 
his beloved city and the ever beautiful hills of Greece, 
and his eye rested on these very sculptures, as they 
hovered round the cornice of that wondrous Temple, 
bathed in the golden light of a Grecian sunset, and his 
thoughts, borne aloft by the solemn association, reverted 
to a vow he had not fulfilled, and he charged his weeping 
friends to faithfulness in their religious duties, according 
to the light they then enjoyed. 

About ninety slabs of marble from the inner frieze of 
the Parthenon, sculptured in bass-relief, are ranged around 
the room. A column, a capital, a piece of the architrave, 
•the original cornice of the Temple, and many statues, are 
among this great collection. Here is a model of the 
Parthenon, restored to its primitive form in the pristine 
days of its glory, and another, showing its ruinous state 
at present. During the bombardment of Athens in 1687, 
the Venetians threw a shell into the Parthenon where the 
Turks had placed a powder magazine ; it exploded, and 
the glory cf Grecian art was reduced to a mass of ruins. 
What savage desolation treads in the footsteps of war ! 

In the Graeco-Roman basement room is a beautiful 
model of the Colosseum in its present state of ruins, 
showing its structure and arrangement, broken, weather- 
beaten, stained and moss-grown — being an exact copy in 
every respect. 



ANTIQUITIES. 45 

On the upper floor is the Egyptian Gallery, ghastly and 
grim with numerous mummies and deities of that strange 
race of beings. The sacred bull Apis, ichneumons, storks, 
crocodiles, cats, monkeys, and serpents, all embalmed with 
religious care ; and coffins, profusely decorated and painted 
with supposed likenesses of their occupants, form a col- 
lection dating back to a higher antiquity perhaps than 
any other authentic relics in the possession of man. These 
remains of a dim and distant past, venerable with the hoary 
age of more than forty centuries, have survived the waste 
of time; the quiet resting places of that ancient people 
have been violated by the prying curiosity of these later 
times ; their winding sheets of " fine twined linen " have 
been torn from their bodies, their depositories of sacred 
treasures broken open, and all have been exposed to the 
curious gaze of a people who scorn their idolatrous rites, 
in a land they dreamed not of. 

In a room in this department is a large collection or 
antique vases, among which is the famous Portland vase, 
considered the most perfect in existence, both in form 
and material. It is of the finest purple glass, with figures 
of men, women and trees, of most perfect form, enameled 
in white glass, and disposed around its body and on the 
bottom. 

In another suite of rooms are Assyrian antiquities, 
mostly exhumed by Layard during his investigations in 
Mesopotamia. These are truly among the wonders of 
modern discovery. They consist in part of unsightly 
figures of men and animals combined ; n.onstrous human- 
headed bulls and lions ; colossal figures of Rameses, Phtali, 
Amen-ra, and other kings, which mock the pigmy colossii 
of Greece and Rome, and facsimiles of the national records 
in strange hieroglyphics, or mostly the original records 
themselves — the heavy slabs of marble having been care- 
fully transported and arranged around the walls of the 
room in exactly their former position, the identical images 
which were looked upon, handled and reverenced by the 
benighted myriads of that early day. Some of them are 
in perfect preservation — the finest lines as distinct and 
accurate as when they first came from the hand of the 



46 A VOICE FROM THE PAST. 

ancient workman; whilst others begin to show symptoms 
of decay, from the alternations of temperature and 
humidity, to which they are, with strange negligence, 
exposed — the surface gradually crumbling away and 
effacing the delicate lines, or leaving a light dust of 
decaying sand on receiving the slightest touch of the 
finger. 

There is something very impressive in looking through 
these relics of an age so remote, that the empires of the 
present are but as of yesterday in comparison; an antiquity 
before which the hoary honors of Greece and Rome become 
but the bloom of youth, and the usual cycle of political 
changes is contracted to a span. The sculptures from 
Nineveh date back from seven to nine centuries before 
Christ; several bricks from ancient Babylon, inscribed 
with the cuneiform character, reveal an antiquity greater 
by thirteen centuries ; while some of the Egyptian remains 
are supposed to date from a still greatly higher era. Buried 
beneath the debris of ruined temples, totally unknown 
and forgotten by the world, they have been preserved 
from the vandal spirit of the children of the desert, and 
now adorn the temples and awaken the admiration of a 
people whose ancestors did not emerge from the darkness 
of primitive barbarism till long centuries after the cities 
they first adorned had been swept from the face of the 
earth and numbered with the things that were. They 
now stand up as a connecting link between the busy 
present and the strange, mysterious past, as silent monitors, 
whose message, leaping over the long interval of three 
thousand years, seems a voice direct to us from the wondrous 
civilization of the primeval world, speaking of the glory 
that has departed, and proclaiming the instability of earthly 
things. 

The great men of their day no doubt fondly dreamed 
they had won^the palm of immortality and crowned their 
memories with imperishable renown ; yet their very 
nations have sunk in oblivion, and save for the Scripture 
records, would long since have been regarded as a fabulous 
myth ; while nations of other regions, far beyond " the 
ends of the earth/' according to their contracted ideas, 



MEETING A FELLOW-PATRIOT. 47 

now treasure up the broken fragments of their labors, 
vainly searching for the slightest clue that may reveal 
their gifted authors. 

Whilst looking over the autograph of Washington, I 
made a casual remark to a bystander, who at once detected 
my country. He proved to be a young American, traveling 
like myself, on a journey of curiosity. An intimacy at once 
sprung up between us — such an intimacy as fellow-patriots 
will form when thrown together in a foreign land, where 
their native home is not regarded with a friendly eye. 
While we remained in London our future rambles were 
in company. We traveled hand in hand and heart in 
heart through the wonders of this mighty Babel; we 
loitered amid the ceaseless throng, that hurries over 
London Bridge ; we gave way to a mutual enthusiasm as 
we wandered along Fleet street with our guide books in 
our hands, seeking out the scenes of Dr. Johnson's and 
Goldsmith's resort; while still the fond thought of home 
rose ever and anon amid the bewildering glories of the 
present, and we often gave the tribute of a respectful 
word to our native land beyond the mists and billows of 
the western ocean. Such a friendship is a gem for life ! 



CHAPTER IX. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY — INTERIOR — POET'S CORNER — ADDISON'S 
TOMB HENRY VII. 'S CHAPEL — NEWTON'S MONUMENT — COR- 
ONATION CHAIRS — YANKEE IMPUDENCE — MORNING SERVICE 
IN THE ABBEY. 

" In dim cathedrals dark with vaulted gloom, 
What holy awe invests the sacred tomb, 
When evening twilight flings her crimson stains 
Through the faint halos of the irised panes.*'— Holmes. 



P 



ESTMINSTER Abbey is one of the principal 
i buildings of London that dates from an early 
(I&W&l® age. It stands near the bank of the Thames, 
not far from Charing Cross, and in close proximity to the 
Houses of Parliament. It is the chosen resting place of 



48 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

England's proudest sovereigns. Thirteen kings and four 
queens have here laid down their mortal bodies, to mingle 
with their original dust; and in the south transept is 
one of the most sacred shrines of literature. This is the 
far-famed Poet's Corner, where the great writers of Eng- 
land are buried, or have cenotaphs erected to their 
memory ; and the hallowed associations thus clustering 
around this antique pile, invest it with a spirit of dignity 
and awe, and throw a tincture of poetic glory over its 
time-worn honors, that gives it the bloom of perpetual 
youth, and a glow of transcendent lustre, to one whose 
mind has been enraptured with the glorious visions, or 
stunned by the startling creations of those whose images 
hover around its sacred precincts. 

Gloomy and gray with ths hoary honors of more than 
a thousand years, it stands in solemn grandeur, wreathed 
in the poetic garlands of the world's master spirits ; its 
lofty towers looking down on the proudest theatre 
of man's achievements ; its buttressed walls crumbling 
and mouldering with the winds and frosts of ages; it 
constitutes one of the most impressive monuments which 
the hand of man has reared. On entering at Poet's 
Corner, the grandeur of the interior bursts upon the eye 
with startling effect; long lines of gray old columns 
stretch away in the chill and dim obscurity; glorious 
'windows, flaming with many-tinted glass, fling down a 
gloomy radiance ; a network of arches envelopes the 
solemn nave and the echoing aisles ; around you moulders 
the dust of England's greatest poets; you stand amid the 
monuments of Milton and Spenser, of Dryden and Shak- 
speare; a tremor of supernatural awe creeps fearfully 
over you ; the shades of those great immortals seem to 
float in fantastic frenzy through the vast and dim vacuity; 
and the damp, chill atmosphere sends a thrill of excite- 
ment through every nerve, till the whole system vibrates 
in harnlony with the wild convulsions of its master-chord. 

Such are the glowing emotions with which the votary 
of the Muses will stand for the first time amid the tombs 
of Westminster Abbey ; such the fine ideals that will play 
through his enraptured fancy, as he almost loses the con- 



addison's tomb. 49 

sciousness of his physical being, and becomes absorbed in 
the glorious visions that open up to his intellectual eye. 

I lingered long amid these tombs of the world's great 
men ; men who established their own line of nobility, and 
whose burning thoughts have gone forth to the world, clad 
in the mystic garb of eloquence, winning the respect and 
challenging the admiration of mankind. At the left hand 
on entering, is a bust fixed on the wall, with the simple 
inscription below, " O rare Ben Jonson ;" beside it is 
another of mild and sweet expression, with the stirring 
name of Milton on the breast; before you stands the 
statue of Addison,* surrounded by the nine Muses, and 
another of Shakspeare, leaning on an altar, on which 
hangs a scroll with the thrilling passage — 

" The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inhabits, shall dissolve, 
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
Leave not a wreck behind." 

While rambling slowly among these refting-places of 
the mighty dead, I was startled on looking down to see 
immediately at my feet on a plain marble tablet, the simple 
words, " Lord Macaulay's grave." I was standing over 
the ashes of the great historian. 

Unfortunately the tomb of Addison is in that part of 
the church which is closed against the public, and is jeal- 
ously guarded by a grim Cerberus, against all admiring 
votaries who come not armed with the might and majesty 
of sixpence ; even then the visit is very brief. He has 
laid down to his rest in the north aisle of that most glori- 
ous apartment, Henry VIL's Chapel, among the kings and 
queens of England, giving, however, rather than receiving 
honor by the high association. A plain marble slab, 
inlaid with brass, bears this inscription — 

* This statue is not authentic. The work is very fine but the 
head is not classic, indeed, rather the opposite, both in intellect 
and beauty. It is modeled from a painting, supposed at the 
time, however absurdly, to be that of the 
wards found to be a Duke or a Sir somebody. 

5 



50 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

ADDIS W. 

Ne'er to these chambers where the mighty rest, 
Since their foundation came a nobler guest, 
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed 
A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade. 
Oh, gone forever, take this long adieu, 
And sleep in peace, next thv loved Montague. 
P— C. 1849. " Born 1672. Died 1719. 

I lingered around the resting-place of this charming 
writer as long as permitted. What sacrilege thus to make 
merchandise of these venerated shrines ! Were I to 
select from all the writers of modern times, that one 
whom I should choose to resemble in the several charac- 
ters of poet, essayist, and Christian, I certainly would pause 
before rejecting the name of Addison. 

In the nave of the Abbey is a beautiful monument to 
Sir Isaac Newton, placed near his grave. He is reclining, 
on his side, his right elbow resting on a pile of four large 
volumes, labeled Philosophy, Optics, Chemistry, and his 
own immortal Principia; and pointing with his left fore- 
finger to a scroll held by two angels above him, with the 
sentence, " I feel but as a child gathering pebbles on the 
shores of the ocean of Time." Above him floats a large 
globe, on which are traced the constellations and the track 
of the comet of 1680, and upon which sits Urania, god- 
dess of astronomy, her head resting upon her hand, and 
looking down on the starry globe, absorbed in deep con- 
templation. On the front of the pedestal is a beautiful 
bass-relief, representing three cherubs, one prying open 
the doors of a flaming furnace, figurative of the discovery 
of the compound nature of light j another pouring a 
quantity of coin from an urn, referring to the reduction 
of the coin to a standard weight, through his influence, 
while master of the Royal Mint ; and a third watching 
the growth of a plant in a vase ; while in the centre is 
another cherub, weighing the sun with a steelyard, with 
the planets for a balance. 

The Chapel of Henry VII. is one of the most highly 
finished apartments in existence. Leland calls it " the 
miracle of the world. " The rich carvings beneath niched 



CORONATION CHAIRS. 51 

canopies, with pinnacles, bosses, and emblematic devices, 
in one great mystery of lofty conception and artistic skill, 
the pavement the tombs, the windows, and especially the 
roof, impress the mind with the idea of perfection, and 
leave nothing to desire. The roof is but slightly arched, 
and yet is self-supporting, and decorated with the most 
intricate system of carving, in scrolls, wreathes, and de- 
vices of the most complicated figures, all deeply cut in 
the stone, and fitted together so as to appear one solid 
rock. 

By the side of Addison's grave is the tomb of Queen 
Elizabeth ; an effigy, with the hands joined above the 
breast, and eight pillars supporting an arched canopy, 
decorated with carving and gilding. Near her lies Mary, 
Queen of Scots, her unfortunate cousin, who fell a sacri- 
fice to female jealousy, and over whose sad ftte every 
reader of history must drop a tear; and here also is 
buried that other Mary, from whose memory humanity 
recoils with a shudder — the bigoted tyrant, Queen Mary 
of England. The Chapel of Edward the Confessor occu- 
pies the middle space of this apartment, where are the 
tombs of Edward I., Henry III., Henry IV., Queen 
Eleanor, Queen Phillippa, and many other royal person- 
ages. 

In this chapel are preserved the ancient coronation 
chairs, one for the sovereign, the other for the prince 
consort, in which the kings and queens of England have 
been crowned for the last six hundred years. In the 
bottom of the former is set a block of reddish gray 
sandstone, called Jacob's pillow, on which the Scottish 
monarchs were crowned long previous to the union. It 
was brought from Palestine by one of their kings during 
the crusades, and tradition sayeth it is the stone which 
Jacob used for a pillow on his way to Padan-Aram. By 
thus uniting the two, the prejudices of both nations are 
respected, which have gradually clustered around these 
relics of the olden time, till now a sovereign would 
scarcely be acknowledged who did not receive the regalia 
of oifice in this time-honored chair 

They are wide, straight backed chairs, clumsy and ugly, 



52 MORNING SERVICE. 

without cushions, without ornament, without paint, or 
even varnish; just such old-fashioned arm chairs as our 
grandmothers of the present day sit in from morning 
till night by our comfortable kitchen fires — cut and hacked 
by jack-knives, in somewhat of Yankee style, probably 
during the Protectorate of Cromwell, when the regal office 
and all its appurtenances were utterly disregarded ; a 
whole tribe of Joneses, and other distinguished celebrities, 
having added the real honors of their genuine autographs 
engraven with a pen of iron, to the factitious honor of 
being the seat where the bauble of a crown is placed upon 
the head of one who chanced to be born under certain 
conditions, regardless of his merit or ability. 

They are enclosed with a wooden railing. I opened a 
kind of gate, went in, and sat down in the sovereign's 
chair. This was the nearest I ever came to ascending the 
throne of England, but judging it most prudent to vacate 
the throne without making known the high honors to 
which I had attained, I modestly and speedily retired. I 
have sat in many chairs more comfortable, but never be- 
fore in one that held so prominent a place in the world's 
hi3tory. 

The morning service in the Abbey is very impressive. 
The solemn chant of the prayers, and the answering 
responses from the choir, go rolling through the long- 
drawn aisles; while the pealing anthem from the organ, 
and the melody of vocal praise, mount upward to the lofty 
vault, and play along the antique fretwork and ornate 
mouldings of the echoing nave, amid whose gorgeous 
tracery a full-orbed window of richly colored glass lets 
down its tinctured beam of dim and sombre light. The 
Spirit of Harmony itself dwells there, mingling her mel- 
low warblings with the murmured anthems of the Genius 
of the hoary Past, who sits enthroned on Chaucer's tomb; 
and the full-toned burst of adoration goes swelling upward 
and outward, floating onward, and ever onward, to the 
throne of the Ancient of Days ; and transforming those 
glorious halls from a mere temple for earthly worship, 
into the portals of "a house not made with hands, eternal 
in the heavens." 




WESTMINSTER PALACE. 5 



CHAPTER X. 

WE8TMINSTER PALACE HOUSE OF LORDS ENGLISH THRONE 

ACCOMMODATIONS FOR TUB NOBLES COURT OF APPEALS 

REPROOF OF " FAST" AMERICA HOUSE OF COMMONS ST. 

Stephen's PORcn — Westminster hall — reflections — 

LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 

" Not Babylon 
Nor great Aleairo, such magnificence 
Equaled in all their glories,' to enshrine 
Belus or Serapis, their gods : or seat 
Their kings when Egypt with Assyria strove 
In wealth and luxury'."— Milton. 

SAYING procured ticKets of admission of the Lord 
Great Chamberlain (what sounding titles these 
English do manufacture !), my American friend 
and I entered the building at the Victoria Tower, to have 
a view of the great council chambers, where the destinies 
of England are decided, and the congregated wisdom and 
aristocracy of the nation hold their deliberative assem- 
blies. After passing through several apartments, and 
one or two long corridors, and mounting a splendid flight 
of steps, we were ushered into the House of Lords ; one 
of the most magnificent and exquisitely finished apart- 
ments, perhaps, which the world can boast. 

On each side are twelve windows, with four lights of 
the richest stained glass, each presenting a full length 
portrait of one of the English sovereigns or their consorts, 
and the series is completed by including Cromwell. Be- 
low the windows runs a gallery for spectators, around 
three sides of the room, protected by a railing of twisted 
bars of brass, and numerous doors concealed in the orna- 
mental panel work lead from the gallery to the outer 
passages. On the arch beneath the gallery which springs 
from the wall, are many compartments, in which are em- 
blazoned the coats of arms of all the Lord Chancellors from 
William the Couqueror to the present time. The ceiling 
is divided by heavy ribs into diamond-shaped figures, in 
each of which is a gilded device relating to the govern- 
ment, the lion and the rose, the shamrock, the thistle and 



54 PARLIAMENT HOUSES. 

the harp, and the royal monogram, VR, entwined in a 
knotted cord with tassels. All parts of the room are of 
live-oak, the national wood, carved with the most elaborate 
precision into flowers, oak leaves, and wreaths j and the 
motto, Dieu et mon droit, God and my rights, is endlessly 
repeated. 

The northern end of the room is deeply recessed by 
the gallery and the arched doorways leading into the 
lobby and side offices. Here are the seats for the Usher 
of the Black Rod, and other officers attendant on the 
Lords in session ; and also the space allotted to the Com- 
mons, when called to attend the Upper House. By no 
possibility could one fifth of the members* be crowded 
into the narrow area. 

At the southern end of the room stands the grand 
centre, around which all this magnificence clusters — the 
English Throne ; not the figurative, imaginary thing 
an American is apt to picture to himself, and to decorate 
and adore according to the warmth of his fancy, and the 
glow of his patriotism ; but the real, outward, visible, 
tangible throne ; the grand corporeal centre, the material 
heart of th'3 British government; a straight, square, 
angular, up-and-down fabric, cut, carved, hacked, and 
gilded into the most profuse decorations. It is without 
one curve of beauty in its whole periphery, except a 
stumpy triple arch beneath the canopy, a series of five 
gothic pinnacles in oak carving, supported by four eight- 
square'posts about twelve feet high, the central ones being 
larger than the others, and projecting forward a little in 
front. The three recesses thus formed are divided by 
rich lattice-work, and each contains a chair of state — the 
central one for the queen, on a platform four steps in 
height, the others one step lower. 

The Queen's chair is a wide, straight-backed, high- 
armed structure, full large enough for old Fallstaff and 
room to spare, with a crimson velvet cushion richly em- 
broidered in gold and purple. In the back is a circular 

*The Lower House has G58 members. The House of Lords 
is 90 feet long, 45 wide and 45 high. 



ENGLISH THRONE. 55 

cushion of the same material, above which is set a segment 
of brilliant gems, surmounted by a pointed Gothic pinna- 
cle. All parts of the chair are most elaborately ornamented, 
and flaming with gold and jewels. In the back of the 
throne, behind th% seat, are wrought the arms of England, 
Scotland, Ireland and Wales. The footstool is about 
eighteen inches long, covered with fine crimson silk plush, 
on which are wrought the lion and rose in white embroi- 
dery, and brilliant gilding. The side chairs are of similar 
construction, except that they have finely rounded backs, 
are smaller, and rather more elegant. The Prince of 
Wales sits at the Queen's right hand ; Prince Albert sat 
at her left. 

It is singular that not one graceful curve, not one wave 
of beauty, should have entered into the contour of this 
most exquisite piece of workmanship. In fact the whole 
affair, if entrusted to the supervision of a second-rate 
Yankee workman, would have been gotten up with better 
taste, and been more worthy of a nation of such boasted 
refinement. Even our rebels of the South, I will venture 
to predict, if they establish their monarchy, will prepare a 
more tasteful and appropriate throne for him whom they 
shall "raise to that bad eminence/' They will at least 
grace it with the curves of a few whip-lashes, and the 
rattlesnake will no doubt twine in graceful folds around 
the legs and arms of the chair, while the elegant figure 
and waviug outline of a "nigger" on all fours, will serve 
them admirably for a footstool. 

The seats for these high dignitaries of England are 
long straight benches, cushioned with scarlet leather, with 
no divisions between the members, with no rests tor their 
arms, and as the seats rise from the centre of the room, 
there is no rest for the hands in speaking. The speakers, 
except on the front seat, must stand in a close, cramped, 
confined space, and any papers that may be needed for 
reference during their remarks, are kept, — Genius of 
American Progress, look back with a smile of complacent 
modesty far in the wake of thy dashing and bold career, — 
they are kept in a box at their feet ! ! I 

The woolsack, or seat for the Lord Chancellor, who is 



56 PARLIAMENT HOUSES. 

the chief officer of the House, is a bench about six feet 
by four, cushioned with crimson cloth, wich an upright 
board in the centre to lean against, and without an arm- 
rest of any description ! In front of the Lord Chancellor 
are two woolsacks for the judges when they sit on appeals. 
They are about the same size as the former, without even 
a rest for the back. Here the judges sit in legal dignity, 
all around the benches, back to back on the same bench, 
and face to face on the inside of the two opposite ones. 
A more ludicrous arrangement could not well be contrived. 

Only imagine the select judges of the land seated 
gravely on two tables, each for want of a better support 
leaning against the back* of his neighbor ; and when- 
one becomes bowed down with wine or wisdom, and nods 
in the unequal conflict, his equilibrium becomes slightly 
disturbed, and they assume a more brotherly attitude side 
oy side. And to a court thus accommodated, in that most 
glorious House of Lords, are the ultimate appeals on 
matters of the most vital interest carried up from the 
inferior tribunals. 

And here again, oh thou wild and wayward spirit of 
American refinement, how darest thou prepare for thy 
legislators the easy and comfortable arm chair, with 
cushions, and spring back, the elegant writing desk with 
all the conveniences of counting-room furniture; the 
waste of vacant space in which he can move with ease 
and freedom, when addressing his compeers in council 
assembled ; when the high-born aristocrat of the mother- 
land is humbly content with these meagre conveniences ? 
Vain ostentation ! preposterous luxury ! pause in thy 
headstrong career. See where thy " fast" disposition has 
brought thee — into strife, and turmoil, and rebellion. Go 
back to thy goal of departure. Be content to copy old 
England in modesty, and remember that stagnation need 
fear no shipwreck. 

From the House of Lords we passed into the lobby, 

*By the way, then, they must excel our Congressmen in the 
amount of backbone they possess, or each one could not support 
his neighbor. 



HOUSE or COMMONS. 57 

whence a corridor leads to a large octagonal hall in the 
centre of the building, finished in gorgeous style, from 
which another corridor leads to the House of Commons, 
a larger apartment, also finished in carved oak of most 
exquisite workmanship, but of the plainest possible ap- 
pearance, varnished and left of the natural color. It is 
encircled with a gallery for spectators. The windows of 
stained glass are very plain and beautiful, and in fact the 
whole room is divested of every trace of gaudy show, and 
has a thoroughly business-like appearance. The ceiling 
is plain, rising toward the centre from all sides, where 
an opening filled with ground glass, conceals a large gas 
burner, from which the whole room is lighted. The seats 
are the same as in the Upper House, except they are 
cushioned with black leather. The speaker occupies a 
comfortable chair at the end of the room, en a platform 
slightly raised. The table for the clerks, and on which 
the mace is laid, which constitutes the formal opening of 
the House, stands in front of him. The sergeant-at-arms 
sits opposite the speaker near the door-way. 

We now retraced our steps to the central octagon, and 
passed out through St. Stephen's Porch, a large hall 
adorned with statues of modern great men, among whom 
are Pitt, Chatham, Burke, and Fox, and entered West- 
minster Hall, which is now but the vestibule of the 
Houses of Parliament. It is paved with large flags, and 
the complicated selt-supporting roof, which springs in one 
wide arch of intricate framework, over the vast area of 
two hundred and seventy feet by seventy-four, was the 
wonder of architects for many successive ages, and indeed 
is yet rarely, if ever, equaled. Descending a noble flight 
of steps, we stand on the floor of that ancient apartment 
which has witnessed so many thrilling events in the history 
of this turbulent nation. 

What a host of stirring memories hover round this 
great historic Hall I Here a nation's weal and a nation's 
woe have been meted out with lavish hand, and her des- 
tinies heedlessly moulded by rude and imperious men. 
Here the shame and the glory of England have perched 
on her powerful banner. Here Stratford was tried and 



58 WESTMINSTER HALL. 

condemned, a sacrifice to the violence of the popular excite- 
ment that preceded the civil war Here a recreant king 
was arraigned before his imperiled people ; was tried and 
found guilty of attempting to subvert the liberties of the 
nation. Here his awful sentence was pronounced, which 
sent a thrill of horror through all the crowned heads of 
Europe, and is yet so fertile a theme of deprecation among 
all who wish to make their court to royalty; a sentence 
which condemned the royal criminal to the death of the 
common malefactor. And this same Hall in later times 
was the scene of the magnificent trial of the great War- 
ren Hastings, on his impeachment for the conduct of his 
Indian government, when the wisdom, and the patriotism, 
and the beauty of London, were assembled to hear the 
great cause, and listen to the siren voice and thrilling 
eloquence of Burke. The Hall was built by Richard II., 
and the first grand historic scene which it witnessed was 
the deposition of its founder. On either side are held the 
various courts of law, this being the great seat of legal 
learning, and the fountain of legal justice for the kingdom. 
On the day when Parliament met, I strolled down to 
the building to see the members assembling. Many 
carriages drove up and set down finely dressed gentle- 
men, whom I could fancy to be peers of the realm, or 
relatives of the august Victoria, lineal descendants of a 
licentious Charles II. or a bigoted Henry VIII., and by a 
possible train of events, heirs to the throne of England. 
The policeman keeping guard at the door, made rather a 
ludicrous mistake. I stepped up to ask a question, and 
he mistook me for a member. Without waiting to under- 
stand my inquiry, he bowed politely, opened the door, 
and replied in the blandest manner, " Pass in, sir." Some- 
what taken by surprise at this unexpected reception. I 
hesitated for a moment, but instantly recovering myself, 
was just passing in ; but it was too late, he had detected 
me; so I concluded to stay outside among the common 
people. What a pity to be burthened with an excess of 
honesty ! a little more roguishness on my part might have 
carried me triumphantly in on the tide of fortune, and 
have placed me for a moment amid the legislators of 



LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 59 

merrie old England. Let no one imagine, however, there 
was any resemblance between the humble writer and these 
"lords of human kind." A moment's observation on the 
part of the intelligent policeman corrected the error and 
prevented my being expelled. 




CHAPTER XI. 

NATIONAL GALLERY ART OF PAINTING — SPIRIT OP BEAU- 
TY — LANDSCAPES OF CLAUDE LORRAINE — CORREGGIO'S 

HOLY FAMILY — TITIAN — RUBENS' PEACE AND WAR 

REMBRANDT — TURNER — NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY 
— DULWICH PICTURE GALLERY. 

" Immortal Art, where e'er the rounded sky 
Bends its rich canopy, thy children lie : 
Their home is earth." — Holmes. 

" True poetry the painter's power displays, 
True painting emulates the poet's lays." — Du Fresnoy. 

y>N a spacious building of no great architectural 
lit) pretentions, fronting on Trafalgar Square, one of 
the great centres of London, is the National Gal 
lery of Paintings. In this great collection are many of 
the choicest gems of the leading masters of the art, from 
the fourteenth to the seventeenth centuries; and perhaps 
in real excellence, and the splendor of the catalogue of 
authors, it is not greatly surpassed even by the world- 
famed galleries of the Vatican, save only in the works of 
Michael Angelo and Raphael, a large proportion of which 
are in fresco on the walls and ceilings of Italian churches. 
The productions of some of our masters of the fine 
arts exhibit a type of the human mind in its utmost 
refinement, its vivid creations leaping forth as it were to 
life and activity, as his fingers play with fairy sweep over 
the canvas ; or starting to the form and symmetry of the 
natural body, from the block of inanimate marble, beneath 
the magic touch of the sculptor's hand. It is a noble 
effort of the mind, to attempt thus to throw its concep- 
tions on external objects, and call into visible being the 
creations of its fancy. 



60 SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. 

Painting is one of the most attractive and difficult 
pursuits in which this class of minds love to engage. 
How exciting the emotions which the painter feels, when 
running over the wild fancies of his brain, his living 
ideas leap into form and color, and present themselves to 
his mental vision for his examination and judgment, as he 
sits almost entranced from the world, selecting from the 
superabundance of images that start out from vacuity, 
and holding communion with the airy forms that play 
their wizard acts before his enraptured mind. Cold 
indeed must be that fancy, that could behold unmoved 
the master productions of some of our eminent artists. 
That mind is little to be envied, that warms not into 
rapture before the glowing canvas of Titian, of Rembrandt, 
or Correggio; that feels no strong emotion stirring in its 
inmost depths, when gazing on a landscape by the master 
hand of Claude j when Reynolds, with his magic wand, 
recalls some great historic scene ; or Rubens, in a playful 
mood, portrays a fairy dance. 

Those master minds have ever recognized the presence 
of the Spirit of Beauty throughout the works of nature. 
It addresses itself to the heart of man wherever he turns 
his eye ; it pervades his very soul, and thrills throughout his 
entire intellectual being, as his eye rests in rapture on the 
delicate tracery of design, wherever the fairy hand of 
Nature has touched responsive matter with her life-giving 
wand. The Spirit of Beauty, like a messenger of mercy 
from the throne of Love, has flung her enchanting mantle 
over this terrestrial home of man, and decorated it with 
all the gorgeous tintings that can throw their spell over 
his enraptured soul, and breathe into his awakened mind 
that quenchless thirst for the poetry of nature, whoso 
longings can only be satisfied by drinking deeply at the 
fountain-head of harmony and life. 

Beauty is to the natural world what error is to the 
world of art; it comes spontaneously and uncalled for. 
As in the most elaborate of human productions we still 
see a trace of the care that was bestowed upon them ; we 
see that effort was required to ^ive to them the perfection 
of form, the elegance of position, the grace of seeming 



THE PAINTER'S REVERIE, 61 

action, and the mimic spirit of life ; so, on the contrary, 
nature's works forever bear upon their countenances that 
joyous expression of inimitable ease which completely 
conceals all attempt at skillful arrangement. 

How thrilling, how ardent the emotions with which 
those old masters contemplated the works of nature, aa 
they chased the fugitive ideal of perfection through her 
ever-varying forms, amid scenes forever new, and objects 
ever strange ; as their intellectual vision wandered over 
fields of untold wealth, and prospects of surpassing 
beauty ; as they attempted to grasp the vast perspective 
opening up before their minds, in all its native beauty, 
in all its burning dignity of uncreated harmony and life ; 
while the glowing images of their poetic minds were 
racing incessantly through their brain, like the alternate 
lights and shadows, pursuing each other with fleeting 
footpace over the moonlit meadows, when the broken 
clouds are holding their airy gambols in heaven. 

We can perhaps realize the rapture that must have 
throbbed in their bosoms, only by supposing ourselves 
placed in the condition of our first Parents, in that grove- 
encircled garden, when man sprung into existence with 
his faculties fully developed; gifted with newness of life, 
and inspirited with primeval energy : when woman first 
came blooming from the hand»of her divine Creator; and 
that rich inheritance of feeling, affection, and sympathy, 
which remains to be her distinguishing characteristic, 
first came welling up in crystal purity from the deep 
fountains of life within her : when the glories of the first 
sunrise in Eden revealed the angelic presence of the 
Spirit of Beauty, as she flung her enchanting mantle over 
that rich panoply of clouds, which, streaming in the 
eastern sky with all the mingled hues primeval light could 
give, reflected like a vast cerulean mirror the gorgeous 
splendors of advancing dawn ; and scattered from her 
benignant hand that profusion of flowerets, which enam- 
eled their pathway, sparkling in the early sunbeam of 
the morning, with crystal gems dropped from the ethereal 
expanse above. 

Some of Claude's landscapes are the ne plus ultra. 
6 



62 Claude's landscapes. 

The Embarkation of trie Queen of Sheba, has a water 
view running back to the distant horizon, of which the 
perspective is most astonishing. The foreground is occu- 
pied by a range of splendid temples, with long colonnades 
of pillars on either side of a small harbor, and the royal 
barges lying at the wharf. The Queen has taken her seat 
beneath a gorgeous canopy of peafowl plumes, and many 
members of the royal party are lounging here and there 
on rich divans, or leisurely sauntering around the decks 
in the brilliant sunlight of that orient clime; while men 
of stalwart frame are carrying on board the various bag- 
gage which such a traveler would require on such a journey. 
Between the buildings which line the water-edge, the 
harbor falls away to the margin of the boundless ocean, 
where several ships are tossing on the troubled waves; 
and beyond them the watery expanse gradually becomes 
more and more misty, as the waves diminish in the 
distance ; while on the extreme horizon a range of bluffs 
peers up in the hazy air on the left; and a gleam of 
reflected light from the sun, looking through the broken 
clouds a little above the ocean's brim, glitters on the 
vapory horizon, and contributes greatly to the general 
effect by which the waters are carried far back into the 
illimitable distance, with a delusion that the will can 
scarcely rectify. 

Several more of Claude's pieces are of similar character, 
especially the Grand Canal of Venice ; and his works are 
finished with that minuteness of detail which bears close 
inspection as well as distant views. Landscape was his 
forte ; and he stood in the very foremost rank of that 
branch of the art. 

One of the richest gems in the collection is the Holy 
Family, by Correggio. The Virgin is seated, with a child 
in her lap, while Joseph stands in the background busily 
employed with his plane. Notwithstanding its high repu- 
tation, the picture, to my inexperienced eye, is certainly 
not greatly superior to many others. The features of the 
mother are not cast in the Grecian mould; the nose is 
certainly not small in proportion, the forehead not of the 
finest order, and the whole face, beautiful it is true, but 



WORKS OF MASTERS. 63 

not that paragon of perfection one would expect from the 
enormous value placed upon it. The child must be con- 
sidered a masterpiece of artistic skill, as it came from so 
famous a hand ; it is a round, full-faced, chubby little 
darling, in a loose and scanty night dress. Joseph is 
thrown in a deep shade, as a secondary adjunct to the 
piece. The coloring is exceedingly fine, the softness of 
the flesh-tints is rarely equaled, and the general design 
is very striking. It is a precious gem of art, as it surely 
is of wealth. It measures ten inches by thirteen, and 
the British government bought it for three thousand 
eight hundred guineas ($19,304.00). 

The Ecce Homo — Christ crowned with thorns, and 
brought before Pilate, when he exclaims, i( Behold the 
man/' — and Mercury, Cupid and Venus, both by the 
same hand, are most exquisite pieces. The former is 
simply a bust of Christ as large as life, with the thorny 
crown upon his head, and an expression of silent, patient 
suffering, mingled with compassionate love for man, and 
his eyes raised to heaven in prayer. The latter represents 
Cupid reciting his lesson to Mercury, a winged god who 
is sitting down, and Venus, clothed in a loos^and flow- 
ing robe, is standing by, and looking over. For these 
two pieces the government paid eleven thousand guineas. 

Many of Titian's pieces are also here. His chief 
excellence, in which he rivals all other painters, is the 
perfection of his coloring. No other artist ever succeeded 
equally well in disposing the colors of his piece in such 
perfect harmony, and very few in giving to their life- 
figures so much of the softness and delicacy of nature. 

Peace and War, by Bubens, is a mingling of the lovely 
and the frightful. Peace, is a happy matron in the midst 
of a group of smiling children, with fruits and books 
around them, and flowerets twisted into wreathes or twined 
in their flowing hair, looking the very picture of home 
delights and domestic comforts ; and War, a savage, 
scowling fury, armed with whips of scorpions, the deadly 
adder twining around his head, and a flaming firebrand 
waving in his hand, is driving a crowd of heipless and 
terror-stricken wretches, tattered, starving, and leprous- 



64 NATIONAL GALLERY/ 

spotted, in wild confusion from his demoniac presence, 
and a band of infernal fiends is lying in wait to spring 
upon them in their flight ; making one of the wildest con- 
stellations of horrors that ever sprang from a painter's 
fancy. There would seem to be no bond of union between 
such dissimilar scenes, and a hasty judgment might 
decide the piece must be very defective, but the artist has 
happily linked them together by a simple and beautiful 
device; the matron and some of the older children are look- 
ing out of a window in their happy home on this fearful 
scene, with an expression of pity in their countenances, 
that does not mar the serenity of conscious safety, or the 
happiness that springs from industry, temperance, and 
high-toned virtue. 

Rembrandt's portrait of himself is a model of delicate 
coloring. He is seated in a dim, obscure light, with a 
wide-rimmed hat, and a coarse, hairy coat, which almost 
mingle with the background, so indistinct do they appear ; 
but the face has the softness, freshness and bloom of life; 
so perfectly are the shades mingled, so delicately are the 
colors applied, that the figure seems to swell out from the 
canvas, and could almost be taken for a bust by nature. 

Some of Vandyke's paintings are of inestimable value, 
especially the portrait of an old man, that seems to lack 
but the spirit to make it live. Venus kissing Cupid, by 
another .hand, and Folly, a child throwing a handful of 
roses at them, while Time draws the curtain of futurity, 
and discloses Envy and Satiety before them ; and a Harpy, 
a beautiful-faced child, whose body ends in a scaly dragon, 
offering them a piece of honeycomb, and holding a dart 
behind her in her other hand, make up a group of ex- 
quisite beauty, and convey a very suggestive moral ; but 
the coloring is cold, and lacks the life and vigor of Rem- 
brandt or Titian. Many of Reynolds' historic scenes are 
here, which recall the great events of fabulous or authentic 
times, and add an interest to the story of a nation's deeds. 

Turner's paintings are very numerous, and considered 
by the generality of London critics as models of perfec- 
tion. One large room is devoted exclusively to his works, 
and has received unbounded praise. A few of them are 



turner's works. 65 

scattered among the other rooms. Were I to venture an 
opinion on them, it would be that with three-fourths of 
the collection, the costly frames and splendid glass with 
which they are trimmed, are of more value than the 
pictures themselves. The human figures are ridiculous 
caricatures ; yet some of his landscapes rank among the 
better class of works. Dido building Carthage, is very 
fine, but unfortunately hangs immediately beside Claude's 
Embarkation of the Queen of Sheb'a, and the contrast 
plucks a feather from its plume. Perhaps it was intended 
as a sly satire on the pompous fame of Turner. Crossing 
the Brook, has a fine perspective, and a few isolated palms 
and oaks are perhaps of the very first order, but in gene- 
ral his productions are unworthy of the place they hold 
among the works of art. A few years will rectify the 
public taste, and cool the enthusiasm which his recent 
and unhappy death has aroused in his numerous but 
imperfect works. 

In these spacious halls are preserved a large collection 
of gems from the world's great masters, relics of inesti- 
mable value, and legacies of the leading spirits of our 
race to mankind at large, of which the British nation may 
well be proud. 

In the National Portrait Gallery is a large collection of 
dingy old likenesses of scholars and statesmen, shown in 
a very unfavorable light. Some of them are of great 
excellence and value. Here is the original Chandos por- 
trait of Shakspeare, with a copy of another at a different 
time of life, and a bust, supposed to be authentic, copied 
from the one placed over his grave in the church of Strat- 
ford-on-Avon. Here are also portraits of Dry den, Pope, 
Thomson, Locke, Goldsmith, Garrick, Lady Jane Grey, 
and Lord Gilford Dudley, and a bust of Oliver Cromwell. 

At Dulwich, in the southern suburbs of the city, is 
another gallery of paintings, mostly by the old masters. 
Some of the works of Vandevere, Wouvermans, Claude, 
and David Tennis, are strikingly beautiful. One choice 
gem especially is by the latter artist; a winter scene of a 
common plain domestic landscape, that at first view looks 
uninviting and monotonous. A clump or two of ever- 



66 DULWICH GALLERY. 

greens, a group of rustics crowded round a door in the 
foreground, with cattle and sheep scattered over the furze- 
covered plain, a building or two in the background, and 
a distant hill covered with naked woods, are the prominent 
features of this picture. But its distinguishing trait is 
its wonderfully accurate and truthful perspective. Upon 
screening the eye from the surrounding light, the objects 
instantly spring out into a perfect stereoscopic effect, and 
the picture is at once transformed from a flat canvas sur- 
face to a real miniature landscape, in which every object 
assumes its due position, and its relative size. Nothing 
can exceed the perfection of the delusion, and the picture 
at once becomes a gem of art. 



CHAPTER XII. 

TOWER OF LONDON — WHITE TOWER — BLOODY TOWER 

QUEEN ELIZABETH'S ARMORY — CROWN JEWELS — FAN- 
CIES — WHITE HALL — ASSOCIATIONS — ENGLISH REBEL- 
LION — CROMWELL. 

'• In that dread hour ray country's guard I stood." — Marturin. 

"That such a man, with the eye to see, with the heart to dare, should 
advance from post to post, from victory to victory, till the Huntingdon 
aimer became virtually the King of England, requires no magic to ex- 
lain it." — Carlisle. 

" Cromwell was emphatically a man,"— Macaulay. 

^I^BOUT a mile below London Bridge, immediately 
£jBK on the bank of the Thames, stands that grand 
Z M\W£ historic pile, the Tower of London. This im- 
pregnable fortress, so familiar to the reader of English 
history, which has been the scene of so many tragedies in 
the long succession of more than thirty reigns, during 
which it has never been taken by a foreign foe, is sur- 
rounded by a moat or ditch nearly a thousand yards in 
circumference, on each side of which is a stone wall. 
This moat sinks far below the water-level of the Thames, 
and can be flooded at any time, through a large gateway 
in the wall next the river. The Traitor's Gate, through 



TOWER OF LONDON, 67 

which state criminals were received from a boat on the 
water, is in this wall. In the early days of tyranny the 
sovereign often chose to accuse those ministers of treason, 
who were special favorites with the people, and fearful 
they might be rescued by the populace if conveyed to 
prison through the streets, they adopted the plan of 
taking them to a boat immediately after arrest, and thus 
keeping them beyond the reach of the people, whose rights 
they were too zealous to maintain. 

The principal building is the White Tower, built by 
William the Conqueror, and consequently over eight 
hundred years old. The walls are from twelve to eighteen 
feet in thickness, of solid masonry, and a circular watch- 
tower rises from each angle. The Bloody Tower, built 
by William Rufus, is but little less ancient. Several 
separate towers are situated in the different angles of the 
outer walls, each of which has its terrible history. The 
Horse Armory is a modern building for the accommoda- 
tion of the armor and weapons of ancient times. Our 
party was conducted by the Warden, who had us in 
charge, into this apartment, where the armor of every age 
from the Conquest to the reign of William III., is exhib- 
ited, about which time its use was entirely abandoned. 
The earliest suit whose original owner is certainly known 
is that of Henry VIII. They are worn by figures on 
foot, or mounted on horseback, in the same manner as in 
the olden time. 

From this room we were conducted to Queen Elizabeth's 
Armory, where are many cannon of curious workmanship 
or enormous size, and a countless multitude of warlike 
weapons. We visited the room where Sir Walter Raleigh 
was confined, and the cell in the wall twelve feet square, 
where he wrote his great history ; also, the room where 
Lord Gilford Dudley was confined previous to his execu- 
tion, and were shown the axe with which Lady Jane Grey 
wns beheaded. What a sad interest clusters around these 
mementoes of the times of old! 

Several cannon which were recovered from the Royal 
George, sunk in 1782; and many articles lately rescued 
from the Mary Rose, which sunk in the reign of Henry 



68 CKOWN JEWELS — FANCIES, 

VIII., having been submerged, the former fifty-two, and 
the latter nearly three hundred years; large guns of im- 
mense value taken in India and China, at Trafalgar and 
Waterloo, and other noted slaughter grounds, are here 
preserved as trophies of the might of England, or objects 
of curiosity from the circumstances with which they were 
surrounded. ' 

We then visited the Crown Jewels, which are kept in 
the Jewel Tower at the northeast corner of the wall, a 
building devoted exclusively to this purpose. They are 
placed on a large table rising in several terraces, sur- 
mounted at top by the glorious crown of good Queen Yic. 
On the lower shelves are the crowns of the Prince of 
Wales and of Anne Boleyn ; the sceptre of Lady Jane 
Grey, of ivory, richly inlaid ; the sceptre of state, of solid 
gold ; the sceptre of the Black Prince ; a golden spoon, 
the only relic of the ancient regalia ; the swords of jus- 
tice, both ecclesiastical and temporal ; and a golden salt- 
cellar, a model of the White Tower, presented to Queen 
Elizabeth. The jewels are surrounded by a heavy wire 
screen. 

My American friend and I lingered long after the rest 
of the party were gone, looking through the open yards, 
examining the objects ot curiosity we were kindly per- 
mitted to visit, conversing with the gentlemanly warden, 
and indulging those reflections which came thronging on 
our minds when we recalled the terrible scenes of English 
tragedy which had transpired on the grounds and in the 
grim old walls around us, where the most abandoned men, 
whose heads were gilded with the bauble of a crown, 
whose birth entitled them to power, or whose accomplished 
vices gave them favor with a vicious sovereign, at times 
indulged those passions, and those little petty piques and 
private animosities, under the pretense of public measures, 
which in a lower sphere of life would have marked them 
as the pests of society, and the scourges of the places 
where they lived : while the dying shrieks of murdered 
princes rang in our mental ears, the lambent flames of the 
martyr's fires threw a lurid glare o'er the hoary walls, and 
with the aid of a little fancy we could almost see the 



WHITE HALL. 69 

visage of Queen Mary glaring, like a horrid fury, from 
the loopholes of the Bloody Tower ; while Cranmer's 
spirit waved a flaming brand before her, and pointed 
downward, as he stared her in the face, with a sad expres- 
sion of indignant pity. 

We afterward visited White Hall Chapel, not far from 
Westminster Abbey. It is a plain but beautiful building. 
Pillars in relief break the monotony of the walls, a heavy 
and elegant cornice almost conceals the roof, and an iron 
rod supports a weather-vane, the same which was erected 
by Charles II., at a time when he expected an invasion 
from the Continent, in order that he might note the 
general direction of the wind, and judge of the probability 
of his enemies landing in his realm. The interior is of 
mingled Doric and Corinthian architecture. Seven pillars 
in relief, and as many panels on each side, are the promi- 
nent features of the walls. The panels are hung with 
rich velvet drapery, of brilliant scarlet shaded with purple, 
and the ceiling, which is flat, is divided by heavy ribs, 
gilded and richly carved, into several oblong compart- 
ments, in each of which is a historic painting ; those in 
the centre quadrangles being surrounded by an oval gilt 
frame. 

Many thrilling associations cluster around White Hall, 
so famous in the eventful history of England. From one 
of its windows history says that King Charles I. was 
taken to his execution, when the cause of republicanism 
had a brief and turbulent ascendency in the annals of this 
country, when Cromwell rose so high on the billows of 
popular excitement, that no possibility remained of a safe 
descent, and his only alternative was to make one final 
effort to climb to the highest pinnacle, and either gain 
the summit, and stand the nation's proud Protector, or 
fail in the attempt and fall to irretrievable ruin. The die 
was cast : the powers of Despotism sunk beneath his 
giant mind ; with one Herculean effort he hurled the 
monarch from his throne, and the world resounded with 
the crash of his falling fortunes. The victor climbed to 
the dizzy height, and with a giant will, and a calm, col- 
lected, dignified prudence, ruled the mighty nation with ou t 
opposition, till the close of his long and eventful life. 



70 CROMWELL. 

This is generally considered one of the most tragic 
scenes in history. To me it is one of the grandest that 
the annals of ages present. For centuries upon centuries 
the populace of England had submitted almost without 
opposition to the domination of a monarch, but when his 
encroachments on their rights transcended the bounds of 
endurance, the people arose in their might and demanded 
a restriction of the prerogative, and failing to attain their 
object, public opinion became excited, aud the public 
indignation aroused to that pitch, that with one tremendous 
surge it swept the monarch to destruction, and hurled the 
throne itself into oblivion during the average life of man. 

What cannot a firm resolve and a determined energy 
accomplish ? Cromwell, born amid the lower ranks of 
society, receiving his education with the indigent peas- 
antry, and inured to the stern realities of a life of 
privations and toil, felt within himself the glow of trans- 
cendent abilities, and the aspirations of predestined 
dominion : and breaking through the incrustations of 
caste, which press like an incubus upon society, rose 
superior to all opposition, assumed that authority which 
the common consent of men confided to his care, stamped 
his own impress upon the times in which he lived, moulded 
the destinies of the nation with his plebeian hand, flung 
a wreath of myrtle around his brow, and proudly took his 
stand upon the higher regions of the Mount of Fame. 




ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 71 



CHAPTER XIII. 

ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS — BEHEMOTH — GIRAFFES — BIRDS R*EP- 

TILES — BOTANIC GARDENS — PALM HOUSE — RHODODEN- 
DRONS — GARDENS AT KEW — THE TORRID ZONE IN A WORLD 
OF CRYSTAL — BANIAN TREE — CEDAR OF LEBANON — MUSE- 
UMS — RUDIMENTAL MINDS IN SAVAGES. 

" Let cavilers deny 
That brutes have reason."— Somcrville. 

" The grain is God's bounty, and the flowers are his smiles." — Newton. 

"IfpN Regent's Park — a beautiful pleasure-ground of 
four hundred acres, toward the north-western 
borders of London — are the Zoological Garden?, 
containing a large collection of living animals from foreign 
lands. They are kept in apartments of considerable size, 
and have as many of the comforts of their nature as it 
is possible to give them. The more ferocious are in cells 
of strong masonry, with iron bars in front, while the milder 
species are surrounded with a net-work of strong wire, 
and the herbiverous animals have large buildings with 
yards where they can move at ease. 

Here is the Hippopotamus or Eiver Horse, in all his 
hideous deformity, ugly and repulsive : a thick, square, 
heavy set body, with short cylindrical legs, and a head of 
frightful form, approaching the body itself in size. The 
tip of the nose is as wide as the forehead, and his mouth, 
when open, forms a cavern full three feet wide, the slit of 
the lips running up nearly to the top of the upper jaw. 
They were caught in the Upper Nile, and presented to the 
Queen by the Viceroy of Egypt. They are amphibious, 
and have large water cisterns, where they wallow their 
huge, unwieldy forms with great apparent enjoyment. 
Behemoth seems to be the nearest living representative of 
the strange and startling forms of animal life that roamed 
the woods and marshes of the early geologic ages. 

In these gardens are four fine specimens of the Giraffe, 
three full grown and one eight months old. Strange, 
misshapen things they are, but not ungraceful. The little 



72 BOTANIC GARDENS. 

one especially is handsome. The skin is of a brown color, 
beautifully checkered with light gray lines dividing the 
ground into diamond-shaped squares with rounded angles. 
The Barbarossa hog of Celebes is another rare animal, 
with very long tusks, which curve to a full circle. The 
warty-headed hog (literally named); the clouded tiger of 
Assam; the ratel, a badger-like animal; a large uncouth 
rhinoceros ; and a sloth, from South America, an 
unhappy looking creature, with long blunt claws, but 
destitute of a palm or ball of ^the foot, whose only means 
of locomotion is by swinging itself from branch to branch ; 
are among the rarest animals of this collection which 
most strongly arrest a stranger's attention. 

An ostrich, ten feet hi^h when standing erect; the 
secretary bird ; the einew ; the cormorant, which so fully 
sustains its reputation for voraciousness, catching large 
fish as thrown to it, and swallowing them almost without 
the least apparent effort ; and the pelicans, so beautifully 
awkward, with their long flexible bills, are among the 
most curious birds ; also the condor of the Andes, full 
grown, measuring twelve feet between the tips of his 
expanded wings ; vultures from the Alps, and eagles in 
great variety. 

Among the reptiles, is a crocodile from the Mississippi ; 
a boa constrictor, from South America; lizards, from 
Australia; the horrid amphisbcena, a venomous snake, 
from India; chameleons, from Africa; and the only living 
specimen of the gigantic salamander of Japan ever 
brought alive to Europe. It resembles a rough moss- 
covered stone, rudely sculptured into a heavy awkward 
lizard-like body, with a thick tail and club head, rather 
than a being endued with life and animation. Almost 
every foreign animal, whether quadruped, reptile, or 
winged, that can be procured and preserved alive, are here 
exhibited. 

In the same park is another enclosure containing the 
Botanic Gardens ; perhaps the most nearly universal col- 
lection of plants from all climates, which the world 
contains. AVe were admitted by tickets kindly furnished 
us by a Fellow of the Society. These gardens are of 



GARDENS AT KEW. 73 

exquisite beauty, aud laid out with the utmost nicety ; 
greenhouses are scattered here and there for tropical and 
delicate plants. The principal building is a beautiful 
structure of iron and glass, and consists of five transepts, 
side by side, with roofs arched at the eaves, and a sixth 
crossing the ends of these with a semi-dome-like projection 
in the middle. It is filled with tropical plants in great 
variety. The flowers in full bloom, under the equatorial 
temperature of these crystal buildings, and the singular 
forms of vegetation, so beautiful, so graceful, so luxuriant, 
give one the idea as he rambles among the palms, bananas, 
cocoas, bread-fruits, victoria regias, cactus, and tree-ferns, 
of being transported to the torrid zone. 

We fell in company with the master gardener, a very 
social man, who took us to see the American plants, a vast 
collection of rhododendrons. Thousands upon thousands 
of these brilliant flowers are clustered in a beautiful plot 
of an acre in extent, the whole of which is covered with 
a canvas awning, in order to mellow the light, and break 
off the glare of the sun. The flowers show to much better 
advantage, and continue to bloom for a much longer 
time in consequence of this protection. They are of all 
colors, from the purest white, varying through the ming- 
ling hues of pink, purple, and crimson, to the brightest 
scarlet. Standing on a slight eminence where we can 
overlook the whole of this blooming garden, the effect is 
very fine. One universal mass of glowicg colors mingles 
in harmonious beauty, while the glare of the noonday 
sun is mellowed and subdued, and a softened radiance 
beams over this garden of delicious flowers. 

But the most attractive pleasure grounds in the vicinity 
of London are the Gardens of Kew, perhaps the finest in 
the world. They are laid out in most delightful style, 
and contain a vast number of plants from all climes, in 
the open air, and in hot-houses. A high gallery runs 
around the palm house, from which the view is truly 
novel. We look down on a confused mass of tropical 
verdure — palms, bananas, cocoas, and a countless host of 
kindred plants. The air is hot and damp, and redolent 
with a tropical perfume ; and birds from the torrid zone 
7 



74 BANIAN TREE. 

flit from tree to tree, and enjoy perfect freedom in this 
little world of crystal, while no pains are spared to pre- 
serve every plant as nearly as possible in the natural 
conditions it requires. 

In this house is a living specimen of the banian tree, 
growing in a soil cf rich loam. It is only eight years old, 
and not very thrifty. Nine stems arise from the ground, 
and it spreads about eighteen ieet wide. It is very rarely 
we see a living representative of this most singular form 
of vegetable life. On an island in the Nerbuaha river is 
a gigantic tree of this species, with three thousand trunks, 
under which Tamerlane once sheltered an army of seven 
thousand men. A halo of poetic beauty clings around 
this noble tree — the " Indian fig" of Milton — 

11 Whose bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 
About the mother tree, a pillard shade 
High over -arched, and echoing walks between." 

Here is a noble specimen of the cedar of Lebanon — a 
beautiful tree three feet in diameter, with rough dark 
bark, knotty and gnarled, sending out long, crooked, 
irregular branches, covered with pine-like leaves of a 
dark sombre green. The grand old tree looks doubly 
beautiful from its connection with the sacred writings, 
its native home on that hallowed mountain in sight of 
which the greatest events of the world have transpired, 
and its precious wood being one of the chief ingredients 
of that splendid temple, so long the pride and glory of 
Jerusalem. The cedar is the most sacred of plants — 
the Scripture emblem of beauty, power, and wealth, and 
the chosen companion of the cypress and the willow in 
the peaceful resting places of the dead. 

In the gardens are two extensive museums, where are 
many vegetable curiosities from different parts of the world. 
Among them is a model in wax of a plant without stem 
or leaves, except mere scales, a parasite hanging on the 
roots or stems of a vine in Sumatra. It is only a mon- 
strous flower, three feet in diameter, and weighing from 
twelve to fifteen pounds — a large lily-like cup, with white 
petals. 

Among other things is a thick, daik-colored, jointed 



SAVAGES. 75 

cane, some three inches in diameter, and seven feet long, 
called the Juruparis, or devil's musical instrument, used 
by the Indians on the Ilio Uapes, a branch of the Rio 
Negro, in South America. It may claim a moment's 
notice, on account of illustrating the extreme degrada- 
tion to which the human mind is capable of descending 
among barbarous tribes. The following description is 
copied from a card attached to the reed: "It is very 
sacred. No woman must see it on any account, and if 
she happens to get a glimpse of it, she is at once put to 
death, usually by poison. No youths are permitted to use 
it till they are prepared by fasting and scourging. It is 
kept hid in the bed of some stream deep in the forest, at 
which none dare drink or bathe. At feasts they are 
brought out after night, and played outside the house." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

SPURGEON — HIS AUDIENCES — METHOD IN SERVICE — CHAR- 
ACTER OP HIS ORATORY — HIS PRAYER — EFFECT ON THE 

AUDIENCE HIS SERMON — POETIC EXPRESSIONS — REV. 

PUNSHON — HIS ELOQUENCE — PICTURE OF THE OUTWARD 
WORLD — FREE GRACE. 

" He takes his harp, 
Nor needs to seek befitting phrase; unsought 
Numbers harmonious roll along the lyre; 
As river inlits native bed, they flow 
Spontaneous flowing with the tide of thought."— Pollock. 

IN a beautiful Sabbath evening, my American friend 
and myself strolled over Westminster Bridge to 
the Surrey side ot the Thames, to hear a sermon 
by the Rev. Spurgeon,* perhaps the leading pulpit orator 
of the world. He is a minister of the Baptist persuasion, 
and his name is as familiar in America as those of our 
own great preachers. His chapel — the Metropolitan 
Tabernacle — is a vast elliptical room, with two galleries 
completely encircling it, capable of holding nearly seven 
thousand people. 

* Charles Haddon Spurgeon, born June 19th. 1834. 




76 SPURGEON. 

In person he is small, not prepossessing, and in spite 
of my prejudice in his favor, I failed to detect in his 
exterior the indications of gigantic powers. His fore- 
head is not remarkably high nor very full, his lips are 
naturally parted when in repose, his eyes sparkle with a 
flash of living fire, and his features are expressive of an 
earnest, honest nature, rather than of that supernal power 
of thought and utterance, that charms the myriads of 
London, and makes his name a household word through 
all enlightened lands. So great is the spell with which 
he holds his audience, that the vast amphitheatre is 
crowded to its utmost capacity, not only occasionally, not 
merely for a few weeks or months, but year after year, 
three times every week, a ceaseless tide of human life is 
pouring towards the sanctuary, and long before the hour 
the spacious portico, the open yard, and often the adja- 
cent street, are crowded with an anxious throng, impatient 
for admission. When the doors are thrown open, five 
minutes before the hour, those holding tickets having 
been previously admitted at side entrances, the surging 
mass sweeps in and pours along the narrow aisles ; every 
seat is filled, every spot of available standing room is 
occupied, and often hundreds, and sometimes thousands, 
unable to gain admission, turn their steps reluctantly 
from the enchanter's hall, and murmur that the^ are 
denied partaking for the hundreth time of the luxurious 
repast. 

His practice is to read a chapter with a running com- 
mentary, in which he expatiates freely on the subject 
matter, not confining himself to the religious features of 
the text, but throwing in a frequent allusion to the litera- 
ture of the Scriptures, or an illustration from the manners 
and circumstances of those early times to verify the 
sacred record; not always sternly adhering even to serious 
remark, but occasionally using an expression, which, were 
it not around the sacred altar, would half provoke a 
smile. One distinguishing feature of his powerful oratory 
is its wonderful simplicity j he seems to expand the mind 
of the listener till he is able to grasp a mighty thought, 
and follow a train of reasoning, which, under ordinary 
speakers, would far transcend his powers. 



HIS ORATORY, 77 

At first plain and easy in his manner, he arrests the 
entire attention of his audience, and a living silence per- 
vades the vast assembly, but as he proceeds and warms 
with his subject, the wondrous powers of his mind begin 
gradually to develope themselves, the beauties and the 
graces of oratory gently cluster around their favorite ; 
common words and phrases seem to assume new strength 
and meaning beneath the magic of his voice, brilliant 
imagery plays from point to point, revealing hidden 
beauties like lightning flashes on a summer cloud, the 
fountains of history and science are opened and pour a 
mingled stream of beauty and instruction, a glowing 
panorama of nature and religion ever passes in review 
before the mental vision, flashes of original thought, 
bright, beautiful and bold, dart from the exhaustless 
fountains of his intellect and shed a dazzling lustre round, 
while the spell-bound audience hang in trembling interest 
on his words, and yield their minds to full belief, obedient 
to his powerful sway. 

In his prayer he produced some most eloquent passages. 
In an impassioned appeal to all to praise the Lord, he 
went into a most beautiful amplification of Milton's im- 
mortal Morning Hymn. He called upon the beasts and 
the birds, upon the thunder and the earthquake, upon 
the gentle breezes and the crashing tempest, to sound 
forth a note of praise, and upon man, the crown and the 
glory of the creation, to make melody within his heart, 
and to lay his fingers upon the strings of the harp, to 
utter the praise which a mortal could offer to a Being of 
infinite attributes. 

His text led him into an eloquent practical sermon on 
the necessity of energy and perseverance in whatever we 
undertake, and especially in religious duties. " He did it 
with all his heart aud prospered." 1 Chron. 31 : 21. 
He drew a Startling picture of insincerity in religion. 
As well might you dance upon the altar, or dabMe the 
garments of the harlot in the blood of the Paschal 
Lamb, as approach the sacred mysteries of religion with a 
hollow-hearted insincerity. 

In his powerful personifications of the Deity and the 



78 SPURGEON. 

Holy Spirit, in his thrilling picture of the sufferings of 
Christ, as an example of zeal and perseverance in a good 
cause, and the terrors of the final judgment, which the 
painted in colors fearfully vivid, his language, his ideas, 
his whole manner of tone, gesture and countenance be- 
came so exceedingly animated, so thrilling, so inspiring, 
that he sported at will with the feelings of his audience, 
and fired up every thing capable of combustion in the 
mass of mind around him. His language is highly figu- 
rative, pouring along like a copious stream, always full 
but never overflowing; he is so plain and simple a child 
can understand him, so eloquent and sublime the most 
intellectual mind can find nothing more to desire for the 
perfection of pulpit oratory. 

He referred to Mahomet as an example of a man who 
did a thing with all his heart and prospered. He estab- 
lished his system of of false religion, not by giving out 
a few dilatory precepts in a drawling manner to a sleepy 
audience, but by being fully and perfectly awake and in 
earnest, by throwing every energy of his mind into 
the propagation of what he fully believed to be a revela- 
tion from Heaven, and his followers, catching his enthusi- 
asm, swore that they would convert the Gentile world to 
the true faith by the persuasive eloquence of the sword, 
and engaged in the pious work with the air and mien of 
men who felt that everything depended on their success. 

The history of the Catholic Church is another illustra- 
tion of the immense results of a determined perseverance. 
"When Francis Xavier went out to preach the gospel to 
the heathen, he took his life in his hand, and considered 
it of no value compared with the work he had in view. 
When encountered by opposition he never yielded to 
discouragements, but ever renewed his efforts, and at last 
he gained a foothold among the wild children of nature, 
raised the cross in the East Indies, preached the gospel 
in China, penetrated into the then almost fabulous regions 
of Japan, and wherever he passed among a people who 
before had been sunk in the grossest idolatry, he left the 
cross planted by the wayside, and crowds of humble sup- 
pliants kneeling in adoration to the sacred emblem. 



ZEAL IN RELIGION. 79 

Xavier was a thunderbolt that startled the nations by his 
powerful energy, a flash of lightning that darted across 
the moral firmament, and arrested the gaze of all who 
caught its glare, till he forced conviction by the irresist- 
ible earnestness of his nature and the overpowering 
energy of his mind. And let these two men, who so 
eminently prospered, by doing their work with all their 
heart, in establishing their respective systems, fraught 
with error, and deformed with folly, be examples to us 
who are laboring in a higher and a nobler cause. 

The man who is fully awake to his duty will not faint 
by the wayside, but, fixing his gaze upon the summit of yon 
almost inaccessible mountain, determines to scale its sub- 
lime heights and receive the prize which there awaits 
him. Careless though he be alone, though all men forsake 
him, though the congregation sink into drowsy imbecility 
he but addresses himself the more resolutely to the 
combat, and presses forward with renewed zeal. Some- 
times, in clambering up a precipice, a treacherous stone 
betrays his foot, and he falls to the bottom • he rubs the 
dust from his eyes and essays the ascent once more. Some- 
times he finds an easy path and he runs, then it becomes 
more steep and he is compelled to walk, then greater 
difficulties oppose him and he is obliged to crawl upon 
his hands and feet^ and when even this is impracticable 
he is content to work himself up by clasping with his 
hands whatever he can lay hold on. What though he 
should grasp a briar and press the thorns into his quiver- 
ing flesh ! What though his foot be bruised by a falling 
stone ! his aim is onward aud upward, and he is content 
to make progress even though it be in pain. At each 
discomfiture he presses forward to the conflict again, and 
his watchword is, Now for God, for religion, and my duty ! 
At last his feet stand upon an even place, and he has 
attained the object of his desire. 

And then in an impassioned appeal to the Most High, 
and with a masterly personification, he asked for ability 
on the part of himself and the audience, to engage in 
the cause of religion with all the devotion of the heart, 
that prosperity might attend our zeal. In speaking of 



80 REV. PUNSHON. 

the flight of time he compared the slow lapse of days in 
our childhood with their swift career in later life, and 
closed thus, " But how our weeks spin around us now ! 
how our years go hissing through the air, and leave a 
track as of a burning brand ! " 

London boasts another preacher of superior powers. 
His name is Punshon, a member of the Wesleyan Church. 
I heard him preach a sermon, combining in a high 
degree the merits of grace and ornament, of glowing 
language and highly poetic figures, of pathos, feeling and 
power j his text, " Giving thanks unto the Father, who 
hath made us meet for an inheritance among the saints 
in light." He does not, like Spurgeon, plunge down at 
once to the bottom of the heart, and carry power and 
conviction with strong and powerful sketches, but com- 
pletely enraptures you with his oriental splendor of 
imagery, and the glowing fluency of his diction, his ideas 
flowing onward in a copious stream, glittering and spark- 
ling in the sunlight of fancy ; his language, like the 
magic power of a kaleidoscope, giving a beauty and a 
delicacy to whatever comes within its influence. His 
vivid appreciation of the beautiful in nature, and his 
touching pictures of religious duties, of the atoning 
sacrifice, and the Father's kind indulgence, led captive 
the mind with the magic of enchantment, and lured it on 
by the power of his oratory to see new beauties in a life 
of holiness, new harmonies in the records of salvation, 
and new inducements to adore the Great First Cause 
of all. 

He drew a picture of the outward world, full of life 
and beauty. It is not a prison house where the soul is 
detained in gloom and sadness, forbidden to partake of 
the pleasant things so bountifully placed before us ; it is 
not a fleeting show for man's illusion given, which secretes 
a venomous sting under every rose, and a viper's fang in 
every bower ; it has not a fiery sword waving over the 
green fields and flowery valleys, and a rigid interdiction 
guarding every avenue to a gratification of the senses ; 
but it is a theatre of beauty and loveliness, liberally 
supplied with everything the mind can conceive that will 



PICTURE OF OUTWARD WORLD. 81 

administer happiness and enjoyment. Its flowery vales 
were never meant to be the haunts of morbid gloom and 
moping melancholy ; its glorious forests were not designed 
to resound with the sighs and groans of the solitary re- 
cluse, who, abusing or despising the bounties of Provi- 
dence, has fostered a morbid misanthropy ; its laughing 
streams, dancing and sparkling amid the gaudy flowers, 
and its joyous birds warbling forth their melodious songs, 
and sporting from tree to tree, were not meant to be con- 
signed to the companionship of the sour and sordid hermit, 
and its glorious canopy of clouds, flashing with every hue 
reflected light can give, but illy harmonizes with the 
doleful gloom of monkish superstition, and that cheerless 
religion that would make this world a home of privations 
and crosses, of trials and tribulations. No ! the earth 
is a golden temple, replete with beauty, and abounding 
with ornament; God has made it a very Alhambra of 
glory and splendor, and has thus taught us that he designs 
us for rational enjoyment, and while we are to look for a 
yet higher and more enduring home, we are not to treat 
with contempt the glories that surround us here. 

He then gave a most happy illustration of the free 
grace of the Father, and the cordial invitation that is 
given us to partake with thankfulness of the rich bless- 
ings provided for our use. It is the Father who hath 
made us meet for an inheritance among the saints in light. 
It is not the school teacher, who receives with general 
kindness the children of his patron friends, and instructs 
them for wages in the accomplishments of life and the 
beauties of nature; it's the Father, who unfolds the 
enrapturing wonders of creation to the minds of his 
tender babes, with the winning invitation, " Consider the 
lilies of the field ; they toil not, neither do they spin, and 
yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory 
was not arrayed like one of these :" It is not the judge, 
who sternly releases the culprit because the evidence is 
barely insufficient to convict him, it's the Father, who 
welcomes the returning wanderer with outstretched arms, 
and in kindest and most affectionate tones, graciously 
counsels him, " Go, and sin no more : " It is not the 



82 FREE GRACE. 

master, who coldly accepts the services you have rendered 
as an equivalent for the hire he has paid you, it's the 
Father, who generously gives you the good things in 
store for his children, and pronounces the heavenly bless- 
ing, " Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou 
into the joy of thy Lord : " It is not 'the ffriend, who 
receives you with kind politeness, and formally treats you 
to the best his house affords, it's the Father, who runs 
to meet you while you are yet afar off, enfolds you in the 
arms of paternal affection, kills for you the fatted calf, 
and bestows upon you with all the exuberance of a 
Father's love, the rich inheritance of eternal life, " Giving 
thanks unto the Father : who hath made us meet for an 
inheritance among the saints in light." 



CHAPTER XV. 

HAMPTON COURT — GUARD CHAMBER — PICTURES — STATE ROOMS 
— QUEEN'S BED-CHAMBER — WEST'S PAINTINGS — ROYAL 
BEDS — RAPHAEL'S CARTOONS — TASTE FOR PAINTING — 
GREAT HALL OF WOLSEY — TAPESTRY — MAZE. 

"Scenes must be beautiful, whieh often viewed 
Please always, and whose novelty survives 
Long knowledge, and the scrutiny of years "—Cticptr. 

pAMPTON Court was for a long time the royal 
residence. It stands on the north bank of the 
Thames, in the county of Middlesex, twelve 
miles due west from Hyde Park Corner. The Palace is 
a long pile of lofty brick buildiDgs, with a uniform and 
beautiful i'ront to the south, situated in a park laid out 
with the utmost taste, and ornamented with trees and 
shrubbery disposed along gravel walks, with marble foun- 
tains and artificial basins of water, with long canals and 
murmuring waterfalls, with exquisite statuary and iron 
paled enclosures, bloomiDg with flowers and cheered with 
the music of birds. 

The interior of the Palace is a long suite ot rooms, 




HAMPTON COURT. 83 

kindly thrown open to the free use of the public, and em- 
bellished with over a thousand paintings, many common- 
place, many very fine, and a few of transcendent excellence. 
The entrance to the state apartment is by the King's grand 
staircase, a magnificent flight of marble steps that leads 
to the Guard Chamber. The ceiling of thii hall is 
beautifully painted with allegorical figures, in the florid 
style of Verrio. From this apartment a long succession 
of rooms, being one continued picture gallery, leads 
winding about through the palace. The pictures are 
mostly of creditable workmanship, but a large majority 
are portraits of the Duchess So-and-so, or His Grace, or 
His Highness This or That; or other gilded baubles of a 
diseased and corroded society, instead of persons who are 
worthy of remembrance, and have wrought for themselves 
a claim on the respect of posterity. 

In several of the rooms the ceilings are gorgeously 
painted. In the Queen's bed-chamber is a beautiful 
allegorical representation of Night and Morning. On 
one end of the ceiling is Night, personified by a goddess ; 
around her nymphs are sporting in the clouds by the 
dim light of the moon, while stars are sparkling in the 
sky ; at the other end Morning is hovering o'er the mists 
of the Ocean, and the hours are drawing aside the cur- 
tain that screened Aurora from view, who is making her 
appearance in her radiant chariot, with a countenance 
bright with smiles, and diffusing joy and gladness over 
the whole assembly. The room is encircled by a zone of 
■brilliant flowers, boquets and shrubs of various kinds. 

Another ceiling represents Queen Anne as Justice, 
holding her soales and surrounded by Mercy, Charity and 
Love, pleading for a group of criminals who kneel before 
her. In this room are many of the paintings of West : 
Regulus's departure from Rome, the Apotheosis of 
William the Taciturn, and many other gems of priceless 
value and surpassing beauty. In some of the rooms the 
edges of the ceiling are arched, on which are painted 
gods and heroes of antiquity, supporting the canopy 
above them with pillars, scrolls and other ornaments. 

Pictures by Rubens, Titian, and a host of others, whose 



84 RAPHAEL'S CARTOONS. 

names stand high upon the roll of fame, adorn these royal 
halls, and make it an attractive place to the lover of 
refinement. The funeral pall, for the "lying in state" of 
the bodies of great men after death, is in the public 
dining room. It is a rich and gorgeous canopy of black 
silk velvet, lined with silver, with a cloth of gold at the 
head, on which is suspended a wreath, wrought with 
many curious devices, with a cylinder of upright spears 
on either hand, and silver tablets and candle stands sitting 
around, 

The beds of the Royal family are hung with the richest 
silk and damask curtains, embroidered with most exqui- 
site fringes in needle work, and a canopy of blue, gilded 
with stars, adorns these splendid couches where Royalty 
reposes its aching head. Stools, tablets, and toilet stands, 
cushioned and gilt, arc disposed around the rooms. The 
splendor would banish sleep save from the eyes of these 
pampered lordlin^s, and slumber is here no sweeter, no 
more refreshing than in the humble cottage where health 
and competence abound, where the ties of domestic at- 
tachment know not the alloy of ceremony, and the 
pageantry of power is all unknown. 

The most precious treasures in these royal halls are 
Raphael's Cartoons, which are kept in a room prepared 
expressly for their reception. Like all other artistic pro- 
ductions, these great Cartoons derive their highest beauty 
from the play of a lively fancy in the beholder; for of 
what avail is all the artist's skill, if he canrrot touch a 
kindred cord of feeling and refinement, and awaken those 
electric fires of sympathetic fancy, that play from mind 
to mind along the wires of genius. The cattle graze 
amid the mountain peaks, or on the sandy plain, with 
equal unconcern, they crop alike the lily and the weed. 
So the blank and vapid mind, which is Warmed not by 
the fires of fancy, would look alike with vacant gaze upon 
the gaudy flash of passionless Dutch amateurs, or on a 
canvas glowing with the warmest tints of Titian or 
Correggio. 

The savage, untutored in the school of science, looks 
with a cold and unmeaning gaze on nature's works, he 



THE ARTIST'S LOVE OF NATURE. 85 

recognizes not the spirit that pervades her every produc- 
tion, for him no glowing robe of beauty invests his forest 
home, no notes of angelic harmony fall like spirit voices 
on his mental ear, no angel of inspiration hovers round 
to direct his inward vision to the Source of all, to touch 
his heart with the tendering influences of nature's perfect 
harmony, to point him to the depths of thought and feel- 
ing which her works inspire, and raise his thoughts on 
high. 

How different the prospect to an enlightered mind. 
To him each flower that blooms along his pathway of life 
is the agent of a Being of infinite perfections ; to him 
each note from grove or meadow, from the murmur of 
the rippling streamlet to u the organ tones of Heaven's 
cathedral," speaks the voice of ethereal harmony, and 
inspires him to attune more perfectly his heart to sound 
a harmonious note in the ever-rising anthem of the world 
of life around him; and when spring spreads her mantle 
of sweets over the face of reviving nature, to his ear the 
melody of her mystic choir sounds the notes of a more 
than earthly harmony, to his eye her forms and hues 
assume the image of supernal dignity and grace, and 
Beauty's self personified, with all her graces, all her glories 
on, blooms brilliantly around the land and breathes in 
every bower. 

A work of genius is ever a fund of profitable thought, 
a mine of deep reflection. Like the works of nature, 
the more they are examined the more their beauties un- 
fold themselves to view. We cannot grasp at once the 
nice design and complex beauty of a flower, its fine perfec- 
tions open out upon us by slow and gradual degrees. Just 
so it is in contemplating a master-work of genius. Raphael's 
Cartoons require inspection to realize their beauty, they 
demand inspection as a tribute to their worth, and yet 
they defy inspection by the masses, for their beauties and 
excellences are so numerous, so various, and so refined, 
that none but a master mind can fully comprehend them. 

They are becoming somewhat dim and dingy with the 
lapse of more than three centuries. They are seven in 
number, representing scenes in the life of Christ and hie 



86 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 

Apostles. The largest would measure about twelve feet 
by twenty. The strength and vigor of the action, the 
expressive attitudes and countenances, the elegance of 
coloring, the grace and harmony of design, the propriety 
and splendor of decorations in the backgrounds and side 
scenes, attest the fervor of fancy which glowed within 
his burning mind, when contemplating the strange occur- 
rences of those eventful days. And yet it is perhaps 
impossible to convey to others, by the pencil or the pen, 
the full perfection of those glowing visions which 
spring up to life and action in our minds, when calling 
up our bright ideals of the great and mighty past. How 
vivid then must have been the creations of those master 
minds, whose great conceptions, revealed through the 
bungling agency of the pencil, divested of the living 
spirit, and reduced to the mere material representations 
of their bright originals, have yet through all these dis- 
advantages, attracted the attention and fixed the admira- 
tion of the world ! Raphael died at the age of thirty- 
seven (1520), leaving a name which the world has decided 
to place at the very head of her honored painters. 

The Great Hall of Cardinal Wolsey is the finest room 
in the building. It is in the Grothic style ; the roof is 
elaborately carved and richly decorated with the arms and 
badges of Wolsey arid Henry VIII. It is a triple arch,, 
with elongated pendants hanging from the points of 
intersection, and supported with a complicated system of 
ribs and stays, gilded and carved with exquisite skill. 
The walls are hung with antique arras tapestry, divided 
in eight compartments, with a rich border of arabesque 
designs. In each division is a scene in the life of Abra- 
ham. The windows are of stained glass, and the subdued 
and softened ligjit, tinted with the mellow hues of even- 
ing, falling on this scene of gorgeous splendor, produces 
a beautiful effect. 

The withdrawing room, adjoining the great hall, is 
also hung with tapestry very old and decaying, and 
divided like the other into different compartments by orna 
mental borders. In one of these is a scene representing 
Fame seated on a car, drawn by elephants and attended 



GREAT HALL OF WOLSEY. 87 

by warriors; behind her is another car, in which Time' 
is drawn by four flying horses; over these are the signs 
of the Zodiac, and the Hours in swift flight. The other 
divisions are of equally poetic allegorical designs. A 
carved oak mantlepiece of peculiar beauty, on which sits 
a portrait of Wolsey ; a beautiful oriel window, and a 
statue of Yenus reclining on a couch, are the chief 
additional features of this room. 

In the Park is the Maze, a plot of ground about one- 
fourth of an acre in extent ; two trees stand near the 
centre, only a few feet from the entrance gate. It is set 
with an intricate system of hedgerows encircling a small 
open space around the trees, and the winding paths by 
which alone they can be reached is nearly a fourth of a 
mile in length. It requires the greatest care to avoid 
losing your way, and is no easy matter tG extricate your 
self if once you become bewildered in the labyrinth. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM — WREN'S MODEL OE ST. PAUL'S. 
— WATT'S STEAM ENGINE — BEATING GOLD — DR. JOHNSON 
. AND LORD CHESTERFIELD— SOUTH SEA BUBBLE — PLAY 
SCENE IN HAMLET — EAST INDIA MUSEUM — ROYAL APART- 
MENT — INDIAN THRONE. 

" The pencil is man's teacher. It unfolds 
Rich treasures to his search, unseals his eye, 
Illumes his mind, and purifies his heart." — Street. 

"'Tig painting's first chief business to explore'! 
What lovely~forms in nature's boundless store 
Are best to Art and ancient taste allied : 
For ancient taste these forms has best supplied." — Da Fresnoy* 



fJWSOUTH Kensington Museum was founded by Prince 
^?feq Albert, and was chiefly designed for the benefit 
jlSSb of the working classes. Though far inferior to 
the British Museum, it is well worth a visit. It contains 
among many other things, a large collection of mechanical 
and scientific objects, models of machinery, chemical 



88 SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM. 

'analysis of different articles of food, illustrations of vari- 
ous manufactures, pins, needles, gold leaf, Damascus steel, 
&c; models of buildings, ancient and modern; a fine 
gallery of paintings, and a large collection of agricultural 
products. My Yankee friend and I prolonged our stay 
among its rich collections much longer than we expected. 

Here we found Sir Christopher Wren's original model 
of St. Paul's — an immense square, with the corners deeply 
circled out. The dome was supported by the internal 
angles, where enormous arches sprung from wall to wall, 
and the effect of the building when completed would 
have been grand and imposing in the extreme. It was 
not divided into a nave and side aisles, by those rows of 
monstrous pillars which add to the complexity, and detract 
from the apparent size of the interior. It is related of 
Sir Christopher, that he insisted with warmth and energy 
on the adoption of this plan by the board of managers, 
and when they gave their positive dissent, and declared 
their determination to follow the old beaten path of church 
architecture, and deform the glorious structure they were 
about to erect with the unsightly appendages of massive 
columns, the great architect was so chagrined that he 
burst into tears. Yet he did the best that could be done 
with the plan to which his genius was fettered, and the 
result is the glory of London. 

In the mechanical department, the most interesting 
object is the first steam engine erected by Watt, in 1785, 
at Soho, near Birmingham — a strange looking affair beside 
the engines of the present day. It is called the sun and 
planet engine. On the fly-wheel shaft is a wheel with 
sockets for cogs to work in, and from the rocking 
beam descends a shaft, having a wheel attached, called the 
planet, to work in the first, which is called the sun, around 
.which it revolves and gives motion to the fly-wheel. 

Among the mechanical processes, that of beating gold- 
leaf deserves a passing notice, as it is generally but little 
understood. Gold is beaten by hand, between layers of 
the peritoneal membrane of the ox, two thicknesses of 
which are laid together to form a leaf, and many alternate 
layers of gold and membrane are beaten at once. The 



THE ARISTOCRAT AND THE NOBLEMAN. 89 

membrane is very costly; a book of it sometimes brings 
forty-eight dollars. It is almost entirely unaffected by 
violent and long continued hammering, which fits it for 
this purpose beyond any other article known. 

In the picture gallery, I lingered long before a few 
choice paintings. Among them, Dr. Johnson awaiting an 
audience of Lord Chesterfield, by Ward, holds a promi- 
nent place. The rustic looking Doctor, great by his own 
intrinsic merit, yet rough and unpolished in appearance, 
nobly contrasts with the. proud aristocrat, great by the 
tinsel of wealth and the accident of birth ; the one by 
the natural powers of his giant mind, rising up from 
obscurity, and arresting the attention of a wondering 
world, has taken a permanent possession of that high 
station to which merit alone entitles him ; the other placed 
prominently before society, yet possessing nothing to retain 
the gaze which vanity or flattery fixes on him, is soon 
forgotten, and the tide of adulation is turned toward his 
next successor in title, too often equally unworthy of 
esteem. Literature knows no hereditary descent of titles. 
It fixes the crown of honor on those whom ability, and 
not gold, has distinguished from the common herd of men. 

The South Sea Bubble, also by Ward, is a very supe- 
rior work. The excited capitalists of the day are listening 
with intense emotion to the reports of the golden harvests 
reaped from the rich fields of speculation in the glittering 
islands of the Southern Ocean, as they are read by one 
of the secretaries in a room of the South Sea House. 

The play-scene in Hamlet is a masterpiece. The terror 
and remorse of the King and Queen, as the horrid tragedy 
of their guilt is enacted on the secondary stage ; the sav- 
age scowl of Hamlet as he lies in counterfeit madness at 
the feet of his lady-love, looking in wild excitement at 
their conscience-stricken countenances; the pensive grief 
of Ophelia at the supposed mental derangement of her 
lover; the general semblance of life and reality diffused 
over the canvas, and the beauty and elegance of the col- 
oring, make it one of the highest works of art. Ophelia 
twining her garlands, is a fit companion to this beautiful 
work. The pensive countenance of the lovely girl, as she 
8* 



90 EAST INDIA MUSEUM. 

sits on a mossy bank, weaving; a wreath of flowers and lost 
in the abstractions of her rambling intellect, is finely 
portrayed, and does credit to the artist. 

In the East India Museum is exhibited an extensive 
collection of Indian curiosities, natural and artificial — 
beasts, birds, fish, insects, and reptiles; most elaborate 
carving in wood and marble ; precious stones of enormous 
value ; gold and silver wrought into kingly ornaments, 
and examples of Oriental luxury in textile fabrics; car- 
pets and shawls of unequaled workmanship, muslins, silks, 
and linens, embroidered with gold and silver lace, and 
wrought with the brilliant wings of beetles, set in ex- 
quisitely rich and beautiful patterns, with a care and nicety 
of labor that mock the utmost skill bestowed upon the 
wardrobes of the rich in western climes. The dress 
entire of India's Queen is here exhibited, and all I had 
ever imagined of gorgeous splendor in drapery, fades away 
and vanishes into tame and simple neatness, compared 
with the flashing radiance of these brilliant robes. 

An apartment is also fitted up in imitation of a royal 
palace, with a wax king reclining on an ottoman, sur- 
rounded by the emblems of royalty, plumes of peacock 
feathers, robes of state, divans of luxurious make, silken 
screens, and damask curtains of purple, green, and blue, 
richly embroidered, and glowing with the most profuse 
and dazzling splendor, offering a scene which the royalty 
of England cannot rival. 

The state chair, or throne, much more graceful than 
the English, is apparently of solid gold set with diamonds, 
and elegantly cushioned. It is in imitation of a large 
sea-shell supported by dolphins, with spray breaking 
against its base, and naiads sporting around its brim. 



CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. 91 



CHAPTER XVII. 

CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS IN ENGLAND — PANTOMIMES — OLD 
MOTHER HUBBARD AND HER WONDERFUL DOG — SCENERY 
OF THE STAGE — WILL-O'-THE-WISP'S HOME BENEATH THE 
WATERFALL — GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE — CHEMI- 
CAL LIGHTS. 

"All the world 's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely actors." — As You Like It. 

"All that the imagination could conceive of beauty was comprised in 
that one gorgeous, glorious vision." — Pitttnger. 

"t^-fyN" England, the Christmas holidays are observed 
Kmj§l| with a zeal unknown in our western climes. Each 
<MMiX class of people have their favorite method of 
spending the time. The sober and thoughtful, with be- 
coming respect and commendable consistency, devote the 
day to religious worship. A much larger class look upon 
it as a time for parties and frolics, and enter the giddy 
whirl of pleasure with a zeal proportioned to the splendor 
of the preparations ; while a large portion, comprising, as 
in all countries, the dregs of the population, have so 
obtuse a perception of the sanctity of the day, that their 
highest idea of the proper method of honoring it, is to 
transform themselves into beasts, by drunkenness and 
rioting in scenes of bacchanalian revelry. 

But in one respect there is a considerable uuanimity of 
sentiment and practice : all parties must see the Christmas 
pantomimes, which the theatres generally represent upon 
their stages with a rivalry that makes these mimic shows 
a glorious sight to all. That stage which can exhibit the 
most gorgeous scenery, is sure of the most liberal patron- 
age; and the result is, all are so transcendently beautiful 
that none are satisfied till they have seen the whole. 
Hence the Christmas pantomimes in London are among 
the great features of the stage, and are frequently exhib- 
ited without variation, every night for four, five, or even 
six months. 

The subjects are often of the most trivial kind ; they 
depend upon splendid scenery and brilliant acting, 



92 CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES. 

with a liberal sprinkling of the comic, for the main at- 
tractions of the play. One wintry evening, the two 
Yankees (in England all are Yankees who come from the 
Northern States,) found themselves wending their way 
toward Drury Lane Theatre, allured by the glowing ac- 
counts the papers gave of the evening's entertainment 
there. The managers of this far-famed theatre had 
selected as the subject of their pantomime this winter, 
the nursery stories of Old Mother Kubbard and her Won- 
derful Dog, Dame Trot and her Goose, and the House that 
Jack built. Such a medley of childish themes gave 
rather an apocryphal promise of anything very intellectual. 
This, however, was not the intention, the design being to 
mingle the grotesque and the beautiful. Indeed the silly 
stories of which the production was made up, did little 
more than give it a name, and serve as a nucleus around 
which the artist had gathered the bright creations and 
grotesque fancies of his genius. 

The scenery was sometimes comic, with an ugly clown 
and repulsive buffoons playing their monkey antics j then 
it would be very fine, representing a drawing-room in a 
princely palace, or a landscape view of hill and lawn, with 
blooming flowers and murmuring streams, and a fairy 
tripping here and . there to brush away the morning dew ; 
and anon it becomes so transcendently beautiful that it 
beggars all description. The memory fails to recall the 
glittering reality, and seems to be reviewing the fantastic 
creations of some bright and glorious vision. 

Among these was one representing Will-o'-the-wisp's 
home beneath the waterfall, in which a large river was 
seen pouring down over a precipice in the foreground, 
below which a succession of rapids ran partly across the 
stage. The water was a deep green, streaked with various 
tints as it flowed over the rocky wall, and sparkled in the 
moonlight with a mild and radiant beauty. A long vista, 
running far back through a rough and craggy vale to an 
almost illimitable distance, down which a lovely gravel 
walk followed the windings of a merry stream, that seemed 
to issue from a bower of roses and hawthorn at the upper 
end of the valley, completed the natural features of this 
delightful scene. 



GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 93 

Soon a troop of fairies, in light yellow robes, was seen 
tripping around the rosy bower, came dancing down the 
gravel path, and crossing the stage, disappeared behind 
the waterfall. Presently a fairy in glittering robes, and 
waving a sceptre in her hand, appeared standing on the 
rocks at the brink of the fall, and gently floating out 
from the solid rock into vacant air, quietly and slowly 
settled down and sunk beneath the waves. 

But the grand Transformation scene, in which the 
fairies were surrounded with all the glories of their en- 
chanted halls, with gold, and gems, and coral wreaths, and 
robes of dazzling lustre, surpassed everything beautiful I 
had ever dreamed of in the realms of fancy. The scene 
opened with a transparent tapestry of purple and gold, 
mounted by spiral wreaths of coral, and six fairies dressed 
in dainty blue standing in the foreground. Flowers were 
blooming, and long grass waving around, sparkling with 
the dews of evening. Soon the background dissolved 
away, and disclosed six more fairies in pale yellow dresses. 
Between each two stood what seemed a slightly bound 
sheaf of bulrushes, with silver stems and golden heads, 
and thickly set with gems of every hue. These began to 
drop over from the band, falling outward in every direc- 
tion, forming a brilliant canopy nodding and waving in 
the breeze, flashing back a thousand sparkles from the 
multitude of lights, and disclosing in the centre of each 
another fairy dressed in delicate pink, while the same mys- 
terious fading away of the background again revealed six 
more in robes of purple and violet. The background now 
presented a gorgeous varied screen, in which were two 
obscure openings. In these were dimly seen the forms of 
two genii, who seemed to be gliding toward us, and soon 
appeared standing in the archways, dressed in deepest 
blue ; while yet another shifting of the screen revealed 
the Queen of the Fairies on her throne of gold and coral, 
under a gorgeous canopy of peacock plumes, more richly 
attired than all the rest, in robes that might have caught 
their tincture from some vagrant rainbow. Each fairy 
held a magic wand which she gently waved, a gilded rod 
tipped with gems. 



94 CHEMICAL LIGHTS. 

The chemical lights were now lit up, and threw over 
this glorious scene such a flood of dazzling splendor, that 
the eye could scarce endure the glow, till it appeared as 
though the whole of this brilliant vision was dissolved in 
the glory of that many-tinctured light. In the midst of 
all this splendor, when the side lights were throwing their 
intensest glare over this scene of enchanted beauty, the 
curtains suddenly dropped from the background, and a 
monstrous mirror flashed back the bright reflection of this 
glorious hall, with such a vivid lustre that the vision 
seemed the work of more than mortal hands, and we felt 
that we were treading in a land of fleeting dreams. 

In another instant the screen was shifted, and a comic 
scene was before us, where an ugly clown was playing his 
silly tricks, on a plain and homely stage. Our eyes were 
not yet freed from, the charm of fairy-land, and the ming- 
ling of the ugly present with the spell-bound images of 
the previous moment, produced a ludicrous effect. 




GREENWICH OBSERVATORY. 135 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

GREENWICH OBSERVATORY THE NESTLING PLACE OP SCIENCE 

THE PARK — THE BUILDING — DEAL BALL DIFFICULTY OF AC- 
CESS — LONGINGS FOR ADMISSION APPLY TO THE PORTER 

REFUSED APPLY TO PROF. AIRY ADMITTED TRANSIT IN- 
STRUMENT MAGNETIC RECORD OF OBSERVATIONS OLD IN- 
STRUMENTS — GREAT EQUATORIAL COMPARISON WITH DUDLEY 

OBSERVATORY. 

"Where yonder towers in mystic beauty rise, 
There Science rears her stature to the skies." 

"Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
Within thy beams, O Sun? or who could find 
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? " — Blanco White. 

FEW miles below London, on a hill which borders 
the Thames, is Greenwich Observatory, the great 
centre of interest in the scientific world. Per- 
haps around no spot of all the classic scenes of England 
has my fancy hovered with a more intense ardor of 
curiosity, with a more affectionate interest, or a prouder 
consciousness of the mighty triumphs of mind, than around 
this great observatory, the scene of the labors of Herschel, 
of Adams, and of Airy. Here Humboldt, Levorrier, 
Olbers, and other messengers from the Continental schools 
of science, have resorted to drink their fill of investiga- 
tion from the inexhaustible fountains of her libraries and 
observatories. Here our Mitchell, our Olmstead, our Silli- 
inan, and other men of whom America is proud, have 
flocked as to a feast of intellect and the council of the wise, 
.to uphold thedignity and maintain the honor of our youth- 
ful nation, just starting to the fore-front of the ranks^ of 
science, with a brilliancy, a lustre, a power, that have al- 
ready well nigh rivalled the achievements of her time- 
honored competitors of the old world. To this place the 
attention of the scientific world is constantly directed, as 
to the grand, controlling, central luminary, around which 
all the lesser lights revolve, and to which all the truths 
that science gathers from the starry heavens, fly as to their 
native home, to mingle with the universal mass, and lend 
their aid in revealing the harmonious perfections of this 



96 GREENWICH OBSERVATORY. 

strange mysterious universe, and interpreting the laws that 
govern all its parts, as sentinels that G-od has set to guard 
His works from danger. 

The park in which the Observatory stands is a beautiful 
pleasure ground. Its trees are fine examples of the grand 
old oaks of England, disposed in avenues through which 
run shady foot-paths and carriage-ways, winding down the 
hill-side, while the steep bank in front of the building is 
one unbroken greensward, save a few gravel paths that 
gradually descend to the plain and enter the populous 
grove. 

The building is of brick, and the General height is not 
above one story. The centre of the front rises some 
distance above the wings, and two small towers flank this 
eminence, from which a scroll descends to the wing walls 
filling the angle with a beautiful curve. The tower in 
which the great telescope is placed, stands a short distance 
from the main building, and is connected with it by a 
series of low rooms. It is about thirty feet high, and 
eighteen in diameter. On the top is a revolving dome, 
to turn the instrument to any part of the heavens. 

In the wall of the yard on the east, is a large mag- 
netic clock, which marks the time with the utmost 
precision. It is moved by a galvanic battery, which is 
the centre of a series of wonderful performances. A 
wire from this battery runs a clock in an ornamental 
Gothic tower in the middle of the street at the Surrey 
end of London Bridge, and is also the motive power of a 
number of time-pieces in different parts of the kingdom, 
all of which tell the same time to the smallest fraction of 
a second. On the top of the eastern tower, on the main 
front of the Observatory building, stands a perpendicular 
shaft about ten feet high, on which plays a deal ball about 
three feet in diameter. This ball is set in motion by the 
same galvanic current. At five minutes before one o'clock 
it slowly rises about half way up the shaft, where it rests 
for about two minutes, and is then gradually thrown to 
the top, where it hangs quivering for a time and at the 
precise instant of one o'clock, drops to its former resting 
place, vibrates slightly up and down for a second or two, 



LONGINGS K)R ADMISSION. 97 

and then settles to the bottom, where it lays quietly till 
twenty-four hours have rolled away. The same current* 
is sent through wires to operate in precisely the same 
manner upon similar balls in different parts of London. 
It is the centre of a grand system of time-signals, in all 
portions of the kingdom j the very highest refinements of 
science; marking time with unerring precision to thirty 
millions of people. In Edinburgh Castle, a large cannon 
is fired by the electric spark, formed by the closing of the 
current as the ball descends. By an additional variation 
the church bells might be rung through the same agency, 
not merely almost together, but at the same precise instant 
the blow would be struck, and one universal roar of bells 
resound from Land's End to John O'Groat's. 

The gates of the Observatory are relentlessly closed 
against all who come not armed with the magic of a name, 
or who cannot make interest wifh the dignitaries of the 
land, and get an order from the Lords of the Admiralty. 
The following sentence is copied from a late article in the 
Leisure Hour, giving a history and description of the 
royal Observatory, by one who was admitted for that 
purpose : " No person, unless of some scientific reputa- 
tion, or by an introduction of some well-known astronomer, 
can ever hope to be admitted within the entrance gate." 
So difficult is it to gain access to this nestling place of 
Science. 

How I longed for admission within its plain enclosures, 
to glance through the halls where the sublime truths of 
Astronomy first reveal themselves to the human mind ; 
where man is taken into closest intimacy with the mys- 
teries of the LTniverse, and admitted to the presence- 
chamber of Urania, who deigns to unveil the outskirts of 
the wonders of the firmament, and give him a glimpse of 
beauties and perfections, whose full development exceeds 
his crude conceptions. But the searching light of sci- 
ence is siowly penetrating the mantle of clouds with 
which she has veiled her Temple, ever and anon darting 
its piercing rays still deeper and deeper into her secluded 
privacies j now revealing a precious gem, aiul now giving 
us a glimmering view of the order of her inner apart- 
9 



98 GREEK WICH OBSERVATORY. 

ments, while the chaos of movements which she reveals 
to our view is gradually falling into harmony and order, 
beneath the searching powers of our sublime analysis. 

But idle longings accomplish nothing ; so, though cer- 
tain of a refusal, I called at the gate and requested 
admittance. The porter who answered my call, a good 
humored fellow, seeing I was already admitted to the 
outside, labored faithfully to impress upon my mind the 
lesson that one side of such a haunt of science was enough 
for one day, and that I should be satisfied with the privi- 
lege accorded me, and not seek to go beyond my bounds. 
I failed to see the truth of this proposition, and my 
instructor, disgusted with my dullness of apprehension, 
left me unceremoniously. I determined, however, to make 
an effort in a higher sphere, and get above the menial's 
head. I accordingly wrote to George B. Airy, the As- 
tronomer Royal, who has charge of the Observatory, 
requesting permission to visit the building, not daring 
even to hope for a favorable reply. In due time the 
answer came. I trembled whilst opening it, expecting to 
find all hopes of ever gaining admittance forever dispelled 
by one final denial. What was my joy, therefore, to find 
a full aud free permission to visit this great object of my 
curiosity, " any morning between the hours of ten and 
one ! " 

Thus armed with the proper authority, I paid another 
visit to the Observatory, knocked again at the gate, and 
was answered by the porter, who demanded my card of 
admission. He took it, looked at it with suspicion, stole 
a glance at my homespun dress, shook his head dubiously, 
and finally went in to have my card examined by the 
officers. Soon he returned with the welcome information 
that all was right, and an attendant was sent to conduct 
me round. 

We first visited the transit instrument. It is supported 
by a heavy steel axis, resting on two stone walls, and 
sweeping entirely from pole to pole, so as to catch any star 
as it passes the meridian. The precision with which this 
instrument is fixed in its place, exceeds our finest concep- 
tions. It moves exactly in the meridian, never varying 






INSTRUMENTS. VV 

from it by a quantity, which, even if multiplied by a 
hundred, would be perceptible to the eye of the finest 
common observer. Its object is to show the exact time 
when a star passes the meridian, to which the centre of 
the instrument always points. For the greater precision 
of observation, a fine spider's thread is stretched perpen- 
dicularly across the centre of the glass, and two others at 
equal distances on each side. The observer records the 
time of the star passing each thread, by an ingenious 
method. A magnetic arrangement by which the observa- 
tions are registered with the utmost exactness, is con- 
nected with the instrument. A cylinder, perhaps ten 
inches in diameter, is wrapped with paper, finely lined 
into sixty longitudinal spaces, and revolves by clock-work 
in exactly one minute, carrying one space or division 
under the point of an iron style, or galvanic pen, every 
second. This style is worked by a battery, and the circuit 
is closed at the instant of the star passing each thread by 
means of a tap placed on the instrument itself. A point 
is thus marked on the cylinder at each passage, thus 
recording the time to a very small fraction of a second. 
An average of the five observations removes any slight 
error that may have occurred, and they are thus made to 
cancel and neutralize each other. At each revolution the 
cylinder is thrown a little to one end, so that the succes- 
sive observations do not become confused. The results 
are afterward copied and recorded in permanent manu- 
scripts. » 

On the walls of this apartment are suspended the old 
instruments of former times, that were successively su- 
perseded as new and improved instruments were adopted. 
Some of these relics are of great interest. Among them, 
is Bradley's Sector, with which he discovered the aberra- 
tion of light ; certainly a curiosity to the astronomical 
world. Bradlpy's and Graham's quadrant, and Sheep- 
shanks's equatorial, eight feet long and seven inches 
diameter, are also here preserved. We next visited the 
great astronomical clock, which keeps the most precise 
mean solar time. I was now conducted to the chronometer 
room, where several hundreds of these instruments are 



100 THE GREAT EQUATORIAL. 

being tested, and their rates accurately noted, even to 
tenths of a second. They are subjected to high tempera- 
ture by means of steam, and to cold at an exposed north 
window. 

From the chronometer roOm we went to the great 
equatorial. This telescope is twelve and three-quarter 
inches aperture, about sixteen feet long, and fitted with 
eye-pieces of various powers. I was surprised to see the 
plain and homely style in which this celebrated instrument 
is fitted up. The tube is a square box of heavy plank, 
dressed down to an octagon at each end, where an iron 
band encircles it, and the brass cells which hold the ex- 
quisitely fine lenses are fastened to this tube with the 
nicest precision, so as to retain thelenses in their exact 
position. It is supported by a large frame work of eight 
heavy iron bars, parallel to each other, and to the earth's 
axis. The equatorial motion by which it is made to 
follow a star, with the utmost precision is communicated 
by water-power, applied on the principle of Barker's 
centrifugal mill, and so perfectly steady is the motion, that 
even with the highest magnifying power not the slightest 
tremor can be perceived. This wonderful instrument, 
which is perhaps not exceeded by any in the world for 
perfection of workmanship and mathematical accuracy of 
observation, has received all the improvements which the 
greatest opticians have been able to apply, and in con- 
nection with similar instruments in other countries, has 
been the means of revealing to us the wonderful harmony 
and beautiful order that reign in the starry world above 
us. 

After this hurried visit I was again conducted to the 
entrance gate, my guide bade me a kind farewell, and 
returned to the discharge of his other duties, and I passed 
once more to the closely guarded portal, which was closed 
and barred behind me. I was especially fprtunate in my 
application, and know not, and never shall know, on what 
ground I was admitted ) but shall long cherish a grateful 
recollection of the generous kindness of the Astronomer 
Royal in admitting me to this building, which of all 
others I have had the greatest desire to visit, even from 



THANKS TO AIRY. 101 

the time when an intense love of astronomy first took 
possession of my youthful mind. Thanks, thanks, to 
George B. Airy. St. Peter's stands next in the catalogue, 
St. Paul's the third. Two of them I have seen; the third 
I may perhaps never see, except in dreams. 

It was no small gratification, when on returning to 
America, I visited the Dudley Observatory at Albany, to 
see the superior neatness of that great institution com- 
pared with the Observatory at Greenwich. Here all the 
rooms are clean and tidy, and kept with as much care and 
attention as a parlor in the palace of a king, while the 
great equatorial is as bright and polished in rosewood and 
brass, as instruments on exhibition in our optical stores. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

GROWTH OP A GREAT BUILDING — GREAT MAT-DAY IN LONDON — 
INTERNAL VIEW OF THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION BUILDING 

OF 1862 — DIFFICULTY OF SELECTION THE KO-HI-NOOR — IT8 

HISTORY — THE SWISS NIGHTINGALE — MICROSCOPIC WRITING 
MACHINE — MISCELLANEOUS OBJECTS — AMERICAN DEPARTMENT. 

"Out of the earth a fabric huge 
Rose like an exhalation." — Milton, 

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever."— KeaU. 

^URING the past winter many thousands of men 
have been employed on a hitherto vacant space 
adjoining the Kensington Gardens, just sou h of 
the far-famed Hyde Park, in erecting a monster build- 
ing for the accommodation of the Great International 
Exhibition of 1862. Where a few months ago was a 
vacant green, there suddenly appeared mountains of brick 
and stone, pyramids of iron, and giant piles of lumber, 
which rapidly, and as by magic, fell into regular order 
and assumed the form and proportions of a mighty build- 
ing, covering twenty-six acres of ground, and when the 
walls had arisen to their full height, a thick network of 
timbers rose from either end, shooting upward higher 
9* 




102 CREAT MAY-DAY IN LONDON. 

and higher, and gradually narrowing to the summit, till 
they towered to a height of two hundred and sixty feet, 
when they presented a regularly rounded outline, and 
finally revealed themselves as the mammoth scaffolding 
over which two crystal domes were to be blown. 

Then numerous heavy iron pillars, curved to the form 
of the scaffolds, shot up on every side, and met each 
other in a crown at the summit, a series of iron arches 
spanning the mighty framework. In the intervals be- 
tween these, smallei rods and stays were laid, like the 
intersections of a sp.der's web, and soon a crystal film, 
glittering in the sunlight, began to envelope the domes 
at the base, and floated upward, day by day, till the whole 
structure was encased in glass, when the timbers inside 
rapidly disappeared, and the mighty domes crowned the 
giant building like two enormous bubbles, wire-bound 
with innumerable filaments of black, through whose 
crystal transparency we could see the clouds and land- 
scape beyond. There is something surpassingly grand in 
contemplating this wonderful creation of genius and 
energy, which rose obedient to their mandate, like an 
exhalation of ethereal vapor condensing around an en- 
chanted nucleus, recalling to mind a passage of unparal- 
leled sublimity in the first book of Paradise Lost. 

The exhibition was opened on the first of May, by a 
grand procession, and with much ceremony, in which 
several members of the royal family and most of the chief 
dignitaries of the land prominently figured ; and such a 
May-day the great metropolis of England has not witnessed 
for many a long year. The May Queen of the occasion was 
the Creuius of Human Progress, crowned with a diadem 
wrought by the united taste and genius of the world, in 
a Temple which sprang into being at the pass of the 
magic wand of Intellect ; her votaries were the crowned 
and titled of the earth, her chariot the triumphal car of 
Fame, her regalia the most luxurious robes' from India, 
and brilliants from Grolconda's starry mines, her treasures 
the richest gems of human art and science, the tributes 
of the world's great master minds, the contributions of 
the human race from every country and from every clime. 



DIFFICULTIES OF ^ELECTION. 103 

On entering the mighty building, the view of the 
Dome and nave is very fire, the former floating upward 
like a bubble in the ethereal blue, and the latter a long 
perspective of arches of a light cream color, delicately 
tinged with pink and faintly streaked with blue, each 
inscribed with the name of a nation, and each bearing a 
flag at its base, beneath which is arranged a countless 
variety of every production of art, finished in the highest 
perfection and with the most elaborate skill. 

Amid such a multiplicity of objects it is useless to 
enumerate ; a catalogue is of little value ; a glance at all 
would require a volume ; the more important divisions 
exceed both our leisure and our powers, and the immense 
results of the grand exhibition on the progress of art 
and the development of science, will be comprehended 
only after years shall have rolled away. Hence, as the 
humming bird visits the delicate flower and sucks its tiny 
drop of nectar, as it hovers around the fragrant rose, and 
flutters amid the gay parterres that border our garden 
walks, while it utterly disregards the towering forest 
and the plain but more useful herbage of the field, so 
we will steal a glance at a few of the minute beauties of 
this vast collection : here a sparkling gem will arrest our 
gaze, and there a mechanical invention, so minute, so 
perfect, so wonderful, that^it would seem to transcend 
the powers of man ; now we will stand entranced amid 
the richest designs in gold and silver plate that adorn the' 
halls of royalty, wrought into the most luxuriant forms, 
and enameled with cunning workmanship, while around 
us will float the gorgeous robes and sparkle the precious 
gems that constitute the barbaric spbndor of Oriental 
courts; and now we will lose ourselves in contemplation 
as we ramble through a labyrinth of passages, where the 
highest refinements of science are thickly clustered 
together beside the choicest gems of nature's more deli- 
cate productions, and the microscopic wonders of the 
world of life below us. 

After admiring the general effect of the building for a 
few minutes, the first thing I inquired for was the Ko-hi- 
noor. It is set in a frame of irold. verv light and delicate, 



104 THE KO HI NOOR." 

with numerous little filaments like the tendrils of the 
vine, set thick with diamond points attached to the frame, 
and projecting out in curved lines all around it. Every 
motion sets these filaments to vibrating, and the minute 
gems flash and glitter as they dance around the mighty 
jewel. The Ko-hi-noor itself is apparently a mass of 
light, solidified and crystallized, of a slightly oval form, 
an inch and five-eighths in breadth, and an inch and three- 
quarters in ^length. The front is ground into numerous 
facets, perhaps thirty-two, and the back is a low cone of 
many angles. The gem is clear as air, almost invisible, 
and flashes with a brilliant lustre. Its value might seem 
fabulous, estimated at millions upon millions of dollars. 
Such is the Ko-hi-noor, or Mountain of Light, the rich- 
est gem in the regalia of Queen Victoria, and one of the 
most precious diamonds in the world. 

The history of this diamond is the history of terror 
and suffering. It was long in the possession of the 
Indian princes, among whom it was the cause of many 
devastating wars, to retain or recover possession of this 
precious gem. It can be traced back to the beginning of 
the fourteenth century, when it was in the treasury at 
Delhi. It has long been associated with the history of 
British rule in India, and on the annexation of the Pun- 
jaub it was taken possession of by the Governor of India 
and presented to the Queen. When brought to England, it 
weighed one hundred and eighty-six carats, and its shape 
was rather heavy and clumsy. It has since been ground 
to a most elegant form, by which its weight is reduced to 
one hundred and two and a half carats.* 

It has a rival on exhibition here, the Star of the South, 
set in the centre of a magnificent circle of brilliants. Its 
color is, however, inferior to that of the Ko-hi-noor. It 
weighs one hundred and twenty -five carats, and is sent 
from Amsterdam. 

The Swiss Nightingale is a marvel of mechanical skill. 
It is in a silver casket, about eight inches by ten, and 
seven inches thick. In this casket is a time piece with 

* The carat is ahont four grains troy. 



SWISS NIGHTINGALE. 106 

several dials, telling, besides the hour of the day, the day 
of the month, the day of the year, the rising and setting 
of the sun and moon, and various other astronomical 
phenomena. The chief bulk of the casket is a case for 
jewelry. The top is most elaborately carved into a repre- 
sentation of a wild rocky landscape, overgrown with 
shrubbery and vines. In the centre of the back part 
rises a rough rock, on which is seated a shepherd holding 
a pipe in his hands. At his right is a pile of rocks, 
under which a cat is seen, lurking in a dark, rugged 
cavern. Before him an open lawn is covered with vege- 
tation, and a goat is feeding at his feet. At his left hand 
a rocky knoll is overgrown with vines and bushes, com- 
pletely concealing a lid, which opens into a cavern below. 

On winding up the instrument and touching a spring 
this lid flies open, a little branch of a tree rises from the 
cave, and a brilliant little humming-bird, dressed in all 
the gorgeous hues of nature, hops up in the tree and 
commences warbling a most beautiful song, loud, lively 
and sweet. At every note its bill opens, and it makes some 
graceful motion, flapping its wings, not with a slow and 
flabby action, but a quick and rapid flutter, turning 
its head, and spreading its tail, sometimes dodging 
down its head, and ruffling up the feathers on its 
neck, and again seeming to be just on the point of 
taking flight, while every motion is so exact an imitation 
of life, that the deception would be perfect were we not 
aware of the reality. The plumage is that of a humming- 
bird, but the song is the song of the nightingale. 

Then its song suddenly ceases, and the shepherd, who 
had been looking at it with an apparently intense interest, 
turns his head, raises his pipe to his mouth, and plays a 
lively air in response ; his fingers moving with every note, 
and his whole frame seeming alive. He then drops his 
hands in his lap again, and turns his face to the sweet 
little bird, which again commences its merry song. They 
thus play in response several successive times, and while 
the bird is warbling, forth its final melody, the cat is 
observed to come sneaking out of its den, crouching low 
and wagging its tail, with its glaring eye on the pretty 



106 MICROSCOPIC WRITING. 

little bird. When it gets just in front of the shepherd, 
it makes a sudden spring, the bird drops into the hole, 
the lid closes with a sudden jerk, the cat is again skulking 
in its lair, and all is quiet. By again touching the spring 
the same beautiful performance is repeated three times 
with one winding. The gem is valued at £640. 

A microscopic writing machine is also exhibited, the 
invention of a Frenchman. It is only an exceedingly 
nice adjustment of the compound lever, so arranged as to 
diminish the letters, which it is capable of reproducing 
so inconceivably small, that the whole of the Bible and 
Testament would be contained seven times in one square 
inch, and yet so perfect is the instrument, that even on 
this exceedingly minute scale the transcript is an exact 
fac-simile of the hand writing of the person using the 
pen. A sample of writing of this size, the Lord's Prayer 
in a circle the three-hundredth of an inch in diam- 
eter, is exhibited under a powerful microscope, with the 
original, written with the style, lying beside it. The fac- 
simile is perfect, every irregular turn, every quiver of 
the hand, has a corresponding curve in the copy. A 
circle of this size contains about the one hundred and 
fifteen thousandth of a square inch in area. Hence, 
perhaps figures would prove that the entire Scriptures of 
both the Old and New Testaments would not occupy over 
the seventh of a square inch. 

The writing is on finely polished glass with a diamond 
point, and the arrangement of the machine is simply this : 
a movable style, to be used as a pen, is suspended on a 
kind of universal joint, in a frame of convenient size for 
writing in, the top of this pen is attached to another, 
which also works on a similar joint, on the top of 
this the diamond is placed, that moves over the polished 
glass. These joints are movable, so as to increase or 
diminish the size of the writing at pleasure, and they 
are arranged with such mathematical precision, that the 
finest quiver of the lower style is transmitted to the 
upper. Now when a person writes with the lower pen, 
its upper end being above the fixed point, has a reverse 
motion, this is communicated to the second, the upper 
point of which again reverses it and it becomes direct. 



PROMISCUOUS OBJECTS. 107 

One sample of writing is as follows, in a space about 
the ten thousandth of a square inch in area : 

" A point within an epigram 
Is often sought in vain, 
An epigram within a point 
Is here distinctly plain." 

Two splendid candelabra stand under the eastern dome. 
They have heavy bases, with spires rising from the 
corners, prismatic stems, flaring arms supporting lamps 
and pendants, and are crowned with a highly elaborate 
pinnacle. They are fifteen feet in height, and consist 
entirely of glass. A series of photographs of the great 
eclipse of the sun July 18th, 1860, is shown in one of 
the galleries. The largest refracting telescope ever made 
is here exhibited. The lenses are twenty inches diameter 
and of thirty feet focus, perfectly achromatic, and of the 
very best quality. It was lately constructed by James 
Buckingham of Walworth Common, Surrey. The lens 
cost him £5,000. The bridal present to the Princess 
Royal of England, when she married her Mynheer Dutch- 
man, is also exhibited, and a countless multitude of gems 
and jewels,* and plate of incalculable value, gold-em- 
broidered laces, and ingrain carpets, tapestries, where the 
life of an unfortunate woman is wrought in a few square 
inches of needle-work, silks from India and muslins of 
such exquisite texture, ik is hardly an exaggeration to call 
them woven air, a fountain of spiral glass tubes, through 
which the water pursues its intricate course in a series 
of distinct drops, the duck-billed quadruped from Tas- 
mania, and a wilderness of curiosities and treasures, 
" which even to name is now unlawful." 

In the south-east corner of the building is the Ameri- 
can department, where is a small collection of contribu- 
tions, the weak and feeble offering of my native land in 
her crippled and helpless condition, to this mighty feast 
of nations. Here we have again taken our stand on the 
practical and the useful, abandoning the gaudy outside 
show to our transatlantic neighbors. Erricsson's caloric 
engines, sewing machines in regiments, reapers, mowers, 
and fire engines, are prominent in this department. A 



108 RAMBLES IN LONDON, 

whole apothecary shop was transported bodily from Phila- 
delphia, a system of domestic cookery, tin cans labeled 
oil of pepermint, a hundred boxes of starch, another 
hundred of maizene, a fine painting by Kellogg, numerous 
pianos, samples of petroleum, ores, rocks, signal lanterns, 
and leather, hardware, brushes, and stammering remedies, 
buggies, try-squares, and California pumps, with many 
other articles of corresponding characters ; no jewelry, 
no fine textures, nothing for ornament alone. Brother 
Jonathan is here in his homespun, in true republican 
independence. 



CHAPTER XX. 

RAMBLES IN LONDON — LONDON BBIDGK — CITY PROPER OF LONDON — 

LONDON STONE — ST. PAUL'S — FLEET STREET TIIE STBAND 

ST. JAMES' PARK HYDE PARK — OXFORD STREET — HOLBORN 

POST OFFICE — CHEAPSIDE ST. MARY-LE-BOW — LUDICROUS 

COMBINATION OF NAMES — GUILDHALL GOG AND MAGOG 

ROYAL EXCHANGE — BANK OF ENGLAND TlTREADNKEDLK 

STRET EASTCHEAP — THAMES TUNNEL. 

" I pray you, let us now acquaint ourselves 
With the memorials, and the things of Fame 
'J hat do renown this city." — Shalcspeare. 

^?ET us now take a ramble through this exceeding 
Ife^ great city, and glance at a few of its isolated 
Is wonders, and visit its chief localities. We will 
suppose ourselves just landed at London Bridge Station, 
in the very, heart of the town, and from this central point 
will walk through some of its principal streets, and sur- 
vey the scenes that may meet our view. 

London Bridge Station is on the Surrey side of the 
Thames, near the river bank, and is the terminus of an 
extensive system of railways that checker the southern 
portion of the island, and converge here as to one grand 
centre. Immediately on stepping out of the magnificent 
station building, we find ourselves in the rush and hurry 
of Loudon life ; thousands of people throng around, the 



VIEW FROM LONDON BRIDGE. 109 

press is fearful, the ceaseless din of commerce, and the 
crash and clatter of innumerable wheels over the stony 
pavements, at once initiate us into the eternal roar of 
London. We fall in with the principal current of pas- 
sengers, and following the drift of this stream of human 
life, a short distance brings us to the entrance of London 
Bridge, the greatest thoroughfare, perhaps, on the face 
of the earth \ here the stream becomes a foaming torrent, 
raging and roaring through this narrow defile. 

Before entering on the bridge, we will elbow our way 
into a little nook, and survey the scene before us. We are 
standing on the banks of the classic Thames, whose turbid 
waters, agitated by the tide, flow alternately with a rapid 
current either to or from the ocean, as the tide is ebbing or 
flowing. To our right is anchored the shipping of a world. 
Down the stream for miles, an uninterrupted forest of 
masts stretches away to Greenwich, the lofty battlements 
of the Tower of London rise from the opposite bank, 
and the long plain front of the Custom House borders 
the water's edge. To our left the river is spanned with 
several bridges, some of iron and some of stone, and 
dotted with hundreds of pleasure barges, while beyond 
the water, towers aloft in solemn grandeur the mighty 
dome of St. Paul's, amid a wilderness of steeples, and 
that gloomy mass of buildings that form the bulk of 
London. Close at hand, a few rods from the end of the 
bridge, a beautiful ornamental Gothic tower rises from 
the middle of the street, in which is a large clock that 
marks the time with unerring precision, while just 
beyond it stand the lofty towers of the church of St. 
Saviour, and a labyrinth of streets diverges to all parts 
of the boroughs on the Surrey side of Thames. 

The noble bridge* spans the river with five broad 
elliptical arches, built entirely of granite. Four trains 
of carriages and wagons are constantly passing, a slow 
and a fast line each way, loaded teams keeping next the 

*It is 928 feet long and 54 feet wide, the carriage way 36 
feet, each foot path 9 feet. It rises 25 feet above high water 
mark. 

10 



110 LONDON STONE. 

footwalks and the lighter carriages moving more rapidly 
along the centre, while a constant throng of foot passen- 
gers crowds the sidewalks. It may convey some idea of 
the throng, to say that the simple operation of a footman 
crossing the carriage-way is a matter of serious difficulty, 
and must be performed with extreme caution and dex- 
terity. Twelve thousand vehicles pass this bridge per 
day, and the average number of passengers is reckoned at 
over eighty-five thousand. The occasions are indeed 
very rare when a footman can cross from side to side, 
without imminent risk of life or limb. This is the lowest 
bridge on the Thames. But we must enter the surging 
tide of passengers that sweeps across the water, and 
press our way through the throng. The bridge is 
paved with stone, and a low uniform parapet of granite 
supplies the place of railing. At length we emerge from 
the crowd, and step on the pavements of the city of 
London. 

The city proper is but a small portion of the town, 
occupying a space of about two miles square, beyond 
which limit the Lord Mayor of London has no jurisdic- 
tion. An intricate network of streets now branches off 
on every hand ; we will take one leading pretty shortly 
to the left, directly to St. Paul's, though the chief tide 
of travel takes a rather more circuitous route to the same 
point. Our choice is Cannon street, from the met of its 
leading directly by the London Stone, an ancient monu- 
ment supposed to have been set up by Agricola in the 
centre of the London Forum. It was the legal central 
point from which all distances in the Island were measured, 
originally perhaps a rough stone, set up by authority,, to 
serve as a general landmark. The wall of St. Swithin's 
church is now built directly over it, a large stone being 
so dressed as to cover it with a neat canopy, and an 
opening cut out in front, through which the venerable 
relic is seen, worn down by the action of the weather, 
and the friction of innumerable hands, to a mere rounded 
knob without form or elegance. There is nothing about 
it to attract notice, save that it has been identified for 
ages, and incidently chronicled in consecutive atnaV, so 



WESTERN FRONT OF ST. PAUL'S. Ill 

that the world has never lost sight of its existence. 
Hence it is merely a certain fixed point, to which the 
attention of successive ages has been directed, an insig- 
nificant nucleus around which the notice of men has 
incessantly centered, and as such, is invested with an 
interest something more than visionary. 

On approaching the end of Cannon street, the giant 
bulk of St. Paul's looms up before us, and that wondrous 
Dome, crowning the mighty temple, and encircled with a 
double zone of Corinthian columns swells upward in 
sublime grandeur, and presents a scene of architectural 
majesty rarely equaled in the world. We must of course 
pause for a few minutes to admire this noble building, 
for what educated mind, even amid the hurry of business, 
can pass those great centres of interest of which the 
world is proud, without stopping to pay a respectful trib- 
ute of admiration to the genius whose memory they im- 
mortalize. We will, therefore, slowly proceed along the 
opposite side of the street, keeping as far as possible from 
the church for the advantage of view, and following 
the curve of the footwalk, which gently circles around 
the church yard, enter the street, not very wide but 
wonderfully populous, which opens immediately opposite 
the western end of the church. 

This is Ludgate Hill. Passing down this street a few 
rods, we will turn and look behind us. What a scene of 
beauty bursts upon our view ! The noble western front 
of St. Paul's, which has been characterized as the finest 
piece of external architecture in existence, stands full 
before us, nearly closing the opening of the street, with 
its noble colonnade sweeping round the western entrance, 
its pillars of the Corinthian and the Composite orders 
standing out in relief from the walls, its numerous orna- 
mental niches adorned with statuary, its recessed windows, 
its classic cornice, its noble pediment with a large bass- 
relief sculpture, aud its two exquisite campanile towers 
rising from either corner more than a hundred feet above 
the square, in a massive pile of most elaborate ornament, 
between which the gorgeous dome is seen swelling over 
the centre of the building, while the street around the 



112 THE STRAND. 

iron palisade enclosing the yard is thronged with thou- 
' sands of human beings, like pigmies around a great 
colossus. 

But we are now in one of the great arteries of London. 
Ludgate Hill opens into Fleet street, the focus of London 
printing houses. Who has not heard of Fleet street? 
There is magic in the very name. What person in the 
glow of youthful fancy has not dwelt in silent rapture on 
the ideal visions which would start up to life and action 
before the mental eye, when poring over a thrilling narra- 
tive of scene3 which have transpired in Fleet street and 
the Strand. We are now amid the old familiar haunts of 
Dr. Johnson, of Goldsmith, and of Addison, but have no 
time at present for sentimental musing. Fleet street 
opens into the Strand, at a point where it is spanned by 
Temple Bar, an ancient archway, now dingy with the lapse 
of centuries, and long a noted locality in the history of 
London. It is an ornamental arch of stone, venerable 
for its antiquity, and carefully preserved as a memento of 
the long ago. 

The Strand is a splendid street of fine buildings and 
brilliant shops, where the most gorgeous wares are exposed 
to sale, and an innumerable throng of people goes pouring 
along, out of every nation under heaven, Jews and prose- 
lytes, strangers of Borne and Athens, and the dwellers in 
Mesopotamia beyond the Jordan. Two churches stand 
in the middle of the street, which widens and circles round 
them, leaving a carriage way on either hand. At the 
western end of 1 the Strand is Charing Gross, one of the 
most important centres of London. On our right is 
Trafalgar Square, adorned with two elegant fountains, 
with large basins of water. Here is a monument to 
Nelson, a solitary column rising to a great height, with a 
colossal figure of the Admiral on the summit. The 
square is encircled by palaces. 

Thus far our course has been nearly westward, at a 
short distance from the banks of the Thames, of whose 
waters we have occasionally caught a glimpse, as we 
crossed a street leading down to some famous bridge. 
The river here makes a sudden curve, and we will still 



LONDON PARKS. 113 

follow up the stream to another famous locality. Passing 
White Hall on our left, we see before us on the right two 
time-worn towers, lifting high their hoary heads from a 
grove of shady trees. We soon deteet them to be the 
towers of Westminster Abbey. The cloisters of this 
venerable building are a series of long arched walks, 
built by Edward the Confessor, and presenting, of course, 
a very ancient appearance. Many monuments adorn the 
walls, of those who lie buried beneath the flags that 
pave these gloomy halls. Some of the old Abbots whose 
memorials still remain, died more than six hundred years 
ago. 

Returning to the street, we admire the Gothic grandeur 
and the lofty towers of the Houses of Parliament which 
stand full before us, and then retracing our steps a short 
distance, turn to the left through an archway leading 
under the Horseguards, and enter St. James' Park. 
Here a new feature of London life opens before us. The 
Parks of London are among the most prominent traits of 
the city. Many of them are hundreds of acres in extent, 
in some parts laid out in pleasure gardens adorned with 
fountains and enlivened with waterfalls, in others par- 
taking of the wildness of nature, with birds flitting from 
tree to tree, forming charming retreats from the clang 
and clatter of the town, where one may rusticate in utter 
forgetfulness that he is in the heart of the world's great 
capital. St. Jauies' Park, Green Park and Hyde Park 
lay in one continuous chain, stretching from the Abbey 
to the west, a distance of two and three-quarter miles, 
lacking about one hundred yards, and varying in width 
from a few rods to about three-quarters of a mile. Re- 
gent's Park, about half a mile to the north, contains four 
hundred and three acres. These, together with the Parka 
of Primrose Hill, Victoria, Relsize, Kensington, Kilburn, 
Holland and Battersea, and the wonderful gardens afe 
Kew, and many beautiful squares throughout the city, 
may give some idea of the amount of commons in London. 

Passing through St. James' Park, along the Birdcage 
walk, a gravel road bordering an artificial lake, we enter 
Green Park close to Buckingham Palace, one of the city 
10* 



114 HYDS PARK. 

residences of the Queen, an ugly brick building, more 
like a large factory than the abode of Royalty. Green 
Park is small. Traversing it diagonally we emerge from 
the green on Piccadilly, one of the great thoroughfares 
of the town. Just in front of us is a most beautiful 
ornamental arch of the Ionic order, pronounced the most 
purely classic in its taste which London possesses. It is 
built of marble. This is Hyde Park corner. Passing 
under this elegant arch, we enter the world-famed pleasure 
ground. Hyde Park is adorned with many stately trees, 
decorated with elegant statuary, and enlivened with 
water, while birds in great variety and numbers, dwell 
amid the shades of a forest that might be mistaken for 
the wild woods of a rural land. Here was erected the 
Crystal Palace for the International Exhibition of 1851, 
of such enormous dimensions, that it enclosed two large 
trees, which stood untrimmed within its crystal walls. 
The trees are still standing, but have since died. About 
half a mile southwest of the site of the old crystal palace, 
and close to South Kensington Museum, is the new 
structure for the exhibition of 1862. 

Leaving Hyde Park by the Marble Arch at the north 
eastern corner (we entered at the southeast), we come 
upon Oxford street, and turn our steps eastward again. 
This is one of the leading thoroughfares, and one of the 
great business streets of Loudon. At its eastern end 
we will turn to the north a short distance, to take a view 
of the British Museum building, on Great Russell street, 
and examine the wonderful palisade of cast-iron railings 
with which it is enclosed. This is a masterpeice of the 
founder's skill. The patterns are very complicated and 
elegant, and have that elaborate beauty which is rarely 
equaled. Returning to Oxford street, we enter High 
Holborn, and soon find a narrow path leading off to the 
right to Lincoln's Inn Fields, a fine open square, which 
is the exact size of the base of the great Pyramid of 
Cheops. Looking over this extensive field, we may begin 
to understand how great, how mighty are these hoary 
remnants of Egyptian antiquity. 

From Holburn, a succession of streets leads to the 



LUDICROUS COMBINATION OF NAMES. 115 

cast, past Newgate, upon whose gloomy walls we cast a 
suspicious glance, without venturing to court too familiar 
an acquaintance with its dismal cells and iron -grated 
windows, and finally we come out on St. Martins-le- 
Grand, close to the General Post Office, a plain structure 
of the Ionic order. In 1860, the enormous number of 
137,174,000 letters alone, besides newspapers and other 
packages, were delivered by the London letter carriers. 
Turn this over a few times in the mind, and you will 
come to the conclusion that this building is the centre of 
a considerable business. 

But now we are again in sight of St. Paul's, on our 
right, and as we cast another glance at its towering majes- 
ty, we enter another of the noted streets, whose name is 
co-ext<msive with that of the city itself. This is Cheap- 
side The beautiful church of St. Mary-le-Bow, with its 
elegant spire, stands on the south side of the street. 
Who has not heard of Bowbells? The genuine cockney 
is on? who is born within hearing of their chime. There 
are fanciful, fantastic, and even classic stories, clustering 
around this celebrated church, which we cannot stop to 
relate. 

In a great city like this, one oacasionally meets with a 
ludicrous combination of names. Passing down Cheap- 
side, we notice Bread street opening into this great tho- 
roughfare on our left; almost immediately opposite is 
Milk street, leading to the right. At the corner of Milk 
street and Cheapside, Peter B. Cow displays himself in 
large, conspicuous letters, as a dealer in India Rubber 
wares; on the opposite side of the way Edmund Farthing 
gives notice of his existence; four doors off a Butler by 
the name of Sharp keeps his shop; close by a man named 
Cook calls attention to his goods in a flaming poster, 
while a few doors up Milk street is the Bull's Head 
tavern. Now this is certainly a singular combination. 
One would think a Sharp Butler ought to make money 
in a place like this, where a Cook is close at hand, and 
where Bread and Milk are so Cheap, by the side of the 
Cow, that a Farthing can command the whole, and no 
wonder a noble Calf should flourish in such a neigh- 
borhood. 



116 GUILDHALL ROYAL EXCHANGE. 

But we must turn aside to glance at Guildhall at the 
upper end of King street, which turns off at right angles 
to Cheapside. Its southern front is a beautiful specimen 
of Gothic architecture, but closely hemmed in by other 
buildings. Flying buttresses flank this wall, between 
which gothic windows give the noble old structure an air 
of venerable antiquity. The doorway is a lofty arch. 
The grand hall has a self-supporting frame roof of most 
elaborate workmanship, similar, but inferior to the roof 
of Westminster Hall. At the western end, stand two 
grim-looking bronze statues of colossal size and savage 
aspect, called Gog and Magog. They have crowns upon 
their heads, are armed with sword, shield and spear, with 
countenances of contemptuous scorn, mingled with the 
utmost rage They bear their weapons like ancient war- 
riors, and might well represent the deities of heathen 
mythology, when they fought with the giants. 

Cheapside soon becames Poultry, in accordance with 
the ridiculous custom in this country of dividing a street 
into many parts, and giving each a distinct name, without 
even a curve to mark the point of transition ; and Poultry 
leads down directly to the Koyal Exchange, a noble Gre- 
cian structure, surrounded by a superb colonnade of 
Corinthian columns, and fronted with a portico of peculiar 
grace and majesty. It stands in an open space, formed 
by the confluence of Princes, King William, Threadneedle, 
Leadenhall, and Lombard streets j Poultry, Cornhill and 
Bartholomew Lane. What a fearful throng of human 
beings'crowds around this noble building ! a ceaseless crush 
of coaches and omnibusses seems to render it perilous for 
the passenger to venture in the eddy, and a strong body 
of police are ever on the alert to prevent confusion in the 
tumultuous mass. An obstruction which would check 
the transit here for five minutes, would cause such a press 
of hurrying and anxious travelers, that life would be en- 
dangered in the crowd. 

At our right is the Mansion House, the official resi- 
dence of the Lord Mayor; on our left the Bank of 
England, a gloomy, sepulchral looking fabric, and strong 
enough for a military fort. In our cursory view we have 



THREADNEEDLE STREET. 117 

only time to glance through its spacious halls, which aro 
not overloaded with superfluous ornament. We cannot 
visit the vaults in the basement, where the bullion is 
deposited, without a permit from one of the officials. In 
the yard is a curious bubbling fountain. The jet of water 
forms a cone with the apex fallen in, and when the air 
is calm, spreads out and falls in a continuous unbroken 
sheet to the water in the basin ; forming a large bubble six 
or eight feet in diameter. 

From this great centre, a network of narrow and 
crowded streets branches off to various localities. Thread- 
needle street, rendered famous by the Bank of ' Eng- 
land : — " The old lady in Threadneedle street holds the 
purse-strings of the world ;" — is a narrow avenue, but 
little more than sufficient for two carriages to pass, and 
leads out to Grace-church street. This is the great bank- 
ing region of London. Around the Royal Exchange 
plain heavy stone buildings arise on every hand, of noble 
architecture but sparing in ornament, within whose for 
tress-like walls the financial machinery is set in motion 
that governs the commerce of a world. 

King William street leads from the Exchange direct to 
London bridge, our starting point; but we will turn to 
the left just before entering the bridge, and pass down 
Eastcheap leading towards the Tower. We are now 
amid the shipping, and make our way with difficulty 
through the crowded streets. The lofty battlements of 
the Tower soon rise to view, and we must make the circuit 
of its walls on Tower Hill j — how the blood boils with in- 
dignation on mentioning that fatal name, when we recall 
the fate of Sir William Wallace, and Lady Jane Gray, 
and many other ancient worthies, whose names are 
wreathed with immortality j — past the Mint, the scene of 
Sir Isaac Newton's labors, and down the river to the cele- 
brated Tunnel. This wonderful work, of which so much 
has been said, is chiefly remarkable on account of the 
difficulties encountered in its construction, rather than the 
magnitude of the finished work. It is a double archway, 
only one of which, however, is open, and is reached by a 
flight of steps leading down a perpendicular shaft, the 



118 EAST INDIA HOUSE. 

carriage approach having never been completed. It is 
lighted with gas, and is a magnificent promenade far down 
beneath the raging tides. 

We may now take a pleasure boat on the Thames to 
any point we may desire. We have made the circuit of a 
few of the noted streets of London, have visited a few of 
its famous localities, and glanced at some of the more 
prominent curiosities j but our visit has, of course, been 
exceedingly transient; our observations often extremely 
trivial, and our survey not only very imperfect, but not 
even . approaching an outline of the multiform grandeur 
of London. 



CHAPTEE XXI. 

EAST INDIA HOUSE — SOUTH SEA HOUSE — JEWISH SYNAGOGUE 

— LONDON FOGS — PETTICOAT LANE — DUCK LANE — TEM- 
PLE — TEMPLE CHURCH — GOLDSMITH'S GRAVE THB 

MEMORIES OF JOHNSON — CHATTERTON — POVERTY AND 
POETRY — MILTON STREET MILTON 'S FAME — HIS TOMB 

— DEPARTURE FROM LONDON — ADIEU. 

" When I consider this great city in its several quarters and divisions, 
I look upon it as an aggregate of various nations distinguishedfrom each 
other by their respective customs, manners and interests." — Addison. 

" Poetry is a thing of God." — Bailey. 

^MONG- the noted buildings of London, the East 
India House has long held a prominent place. 
It is now being torn away. It is a pity to remove 
such noble buildings without the stern plea of necessity ; 
no city can afford to spare such fine ornaments. The por- 
tico is magnificent, and might well be classed among the 
fine works of London architecture. It is of large dimen- 
sions, with a graceful and lofty ceiling, and skirted with a 
range of noble columns. On the pediment is a cluster 
of figures sculptured in marble, giving a highly classic 
appearance to the elegant structure. The busiuess of the 
company is transferred to Westminster, and the govern- 
ment of India to the Queen. 




JEWISU SYNAGOGUE. 119 

At the junction of Threadneedle and Grace-church 
streets, stands the South Sea House, memorable for its 
connection with the gigantic bubble of speculation, that 
created so wild an excitement in the commercial circles of 
last century, when the inexhaustible riches of the islands 
that gem the Southern Ocean were to be drawn to this 
land in overwhelming tides, and to give the fortunate 
holders of stock in that gigantic company, a store of 
wealth and influence that would raise them above tlie 
contingencies of life, and make them more than lords. 
A simple arch over the door, with the words South Sea 
House cut in the stone, is all that marks the place. 

Not far from Crosby Hall, another noble relic of antiqui- 
ty, the Jews have lately erected a synagogue, the finest in 
London. Let us step in and witness the religious servi- 
ces of that ancient people. Every thing is chanted, and 
seems lifeless and formal, though as the services are in 
Hebrew, we of course can understand nothing of them. 
All keep their hats on as a matter of duty, and the 
women are stowed away in the galleries, where they can 
see but not be seen. There is no bond of union between 
them and us, save that they worship the same Eternal 
Father. Their worship is a venerable relic of the times 
of old ) so ancient indeed, that the fabled reigns of Jupi- 
ter and Saturn in the Mythology of Greece, were only 
contemporary with Saui and David ; in whose day the 
Jewish rites were already sacred to the people, by the 
continued usage of many centuries. 

Among other noted features of London we must not 
forget its proverbial fogs. They are no slight imitations 
of the phenomenon, on a small scale and stopping at a half- 
way point, but perfect specimens of their kind. Toward 
the close of a winter's night, a dense heavy mantle of 
vapor will often settle upon the city, and when the sun 
arises the light of day, struggling through the vapory 
veil, will scarcely be able to dispel the darkness ; indeed, 
it is often necessary to keep the street lamps burning till 
noon, and sometimes all day. One morning as I was 
passing St. Paul's, the top of the cross that surmounts 
the dome was lost in a thick heavy dense cloud, that -to- 



120 PETTICOAT LANE. 

tally hid the summit from view, while the dome itself was 
unobscured, and not a wisp of vapor hovered around the 
body of the church. Like the Temple of Science in 
Aiken's vision, its summit was lost in the clouds. The 
fog gradually lowered, the vapory mantle settled around 
the dome, and soon fell dark and heavy upon the ground. 
But we must pay a visit to one of the noted localities of 
London low-life. Petticoat Lane is a narrow, dirty, 
crooked passage, lined with buildings so dingy and mean, 
they look as if old Father Time had scorned to notico 
them any further in the hurry of his flight. Here are 
shops of every description of refuse articles : filthy old 
rags and rusty iron, broken horse-shoes and worn out cut- 
lery, the very rag-tag and bobtail of all the odds and ends 
of London trade; broken fragments of mouldering crock- 
ery, and the shreds, shivers, and streamers of the last 
remnants of rags that fluttered around the wretched beggars 
of the worst localities of London. Hence it may be 
supposed that Petticoat Lane is peopled by the crafty and 
tricky Jews. On Sunday mornings they open up their 
disgusting shops, and riot in bold defiance of all legal 
authority, attracting a crowd of congenial elements around 
them, who are very officious to relieve the unwary traveler 
of any superfluous articles he may be cumbered with, for 
which kind assistance they would generously refuse any 
compliments, and modestly withdraw themselves from 
observation by plunging into the crowd, if their favors 
are publicly acknowledged ; while the guardian of public 
order, the irrepressible policeman, who is always and for- 
ever on the alert in this den of pollution, is often sorely 
baffled to discover the one to whom his attentions are due, 
or when discovered, to induce him to come before the 
public to receive the honors he has so richly merited. 

This Lane, which lies just east of Bishopgate street, is 
thronged with the lowest class of London, with here and 
there a respectable person attracted by curiosity, which of 
course is the case to-day, and the crowd is often so dense 
it is almost impossible to force a passage through, while 
ever and anon some Israelitish nose is thrust into your 
face, with a modest proposition that you should make an 



TEMPLE — TEMPLE CHURCH. 121 

exchange of a little filthy lucre for some filthy rags. Of 
course they are all li honisht," and hold the dogma that a 
fair exchange — that is an exchange of valuables from 
your pocket to theirs — is no unjustifiable robbery. 

I had considerable search for Duck Lane, another 
locality which happened to attach itself to my memory, 
and excited my curiosity from reading Pope's Dunciad. 
He says in his own peculiar satirical style, that many of 
the writings of his day would soon find their congenial 
element, and be consigned to their appropriate resting 
place, 

" Amid their kindred cobwebs in Duck Lane." 

After much inquiry, and examining several directories, I 
at last found it, a disgusting, dirty alley, leading from 
Edward street, Soho, down, down, down, a sloping paved 
declivity, full fifty feet, and bringing up at last fair and 
square to a stable door, a very appropriate repository for 
the dull and senseless folios of self-conceited authors.. 

Between the western end of Fleet street and the river, 
is a considerable space occupied by the Temple, a name 
derived from the ancient brotherhood of Knights Templar, 
whose palace this was, or hospital as they called it, till their 
overthrow in 1313. It was then given to the Earl of 
Pembroke, at whose death it became the property of the 
Knights of St. John, the rivals of the Order of Tem- 
plars. By them it was leased to the common law stu- 
dents, and is now the seat of the two most important 
legal societies of the kingdom. 

The Temple Church is the oldest in London, and one 
of the most gorgeous. The ceiling is a gothic arch, 
springing from light and elegant pillars of dark gray 
marble, and decked with flowers and ornamental designs 
in variegated tints. The interior of the dome is sur- 
rounded by a series of Purbeck marble pillars, of most 
elaborate finish. This is the scene of the devotional 
exercises of that great trio of English celebrities, Johnson, 
Goldsmith and Addison. 

In the wall on the north side of the choir is a tablet to 
the memory of Oliver Goldsmith, who lies in the burial 
ground beside the church. A policeman in attendance 
11 



122 THE MEMORIES OF JOHNSON. 

kindly took usj to visit his grave. A neat plain block of 
marble, dressed in the form of a coffin, and inscribed with 
the simple words, " Here lies Oliver Goldsmith/' with 
the dates of his birth and death j on the other side, is an 
appropriate memorial to the great departed. His simple 
unostentatious life asked not a splendid tomb ; his monu- 
ment is on paper, and distributed through the houses of 
the rich and the poor, wherever the English language is 
spoken. We visited many of his old haunts, and places 
associated with his name, all full of interest, all classic 
ground to a lover of the Citizen of the World, and the 
Vicar of Wakefield ; of the Traveler's melody, and the 
charming desolation of the Deserted Village. 

And the memories of Johnson ! How they cluster close 
and fondly around the mind, as we tread these courts 
where fell the footsteps of this Prince of learned men ! 
How willingly we forget the uncouth outward form, as the 
mind is illumined with the glow of the Rambler's morality, 
and entranced with the Vision of Theodore, as he 
climbed from his hermit cell to the summit of Teneriffe, 
and caught a bird's-eye view of the vices and follies of 
man. I looked with deep interest on an old dead oak in 
the Temple Gardens, and lingered long on a rustic seat 
beneath its storm-scathed boughs, where he framed many 
of his Ramblers, and which he chose as his favorite retreat 
for meditation apart from the noise and bustle of the town. 
The Thames flows just in front, and pleasure barges skim 
along its tranquil bosom. It is a place a thoughtful mind 
might well select to indulge its glowing fancies. 

With what interest have I traced the haunts of this 
great man ! I visited the spot where stood the house in 
which he long resided, and which only four years since was 
replaced by a finer. I lingered hour after hour along 
Fleet street, where he spent many a weary day, touched 
the lamp-posts as I passed, in memory and in imitation of 
him even in his follies ; walked up Bolt Court after his 
manner, taking special care to tread on every stone, that 
he might have a lucky day ; hung around the scenes that 
witnessed the friendship between him and Goldsmith, where 
Boswell was fortunately so very intrusive ; saw the origi- 



POVERTY AND POETRY. 123 

rial Tragedy of Irene in his own hand-writing in the 
British Museum, and gave myself up to a morbid enthu- 
siasm, while lingering among the scenes hallowed by 
recollections of his master mind. 

We then visited St. Andrew's church, Holborn, to see 
the grave of Chatterton, the wondrous " poet-boy;" but 
found, that as he had been driven to despair by his abject 
misery, and had terminated his own existence in one of 
the courts of Holborn, he had been denied a resting place 
in consecrated ground, and found a hospitable grave in 
Shoe Lane, close by; a low, degraded situation, and a 
market is now held over his silent abode. What savage 
bigotry ! Chatterton was one of whom the world is proud, 
a wild impassioned spirit imprisoned in a wretched body, 
an outcast from society because he lacked the glitter of 
delusive gold, and reduced to the necessity of crime to 
supply the animal wants of his nature. Society then 
sternly punished the crimes it had driven him to commit, 
and the wretched being, denied a dwelling with his fellow 
man, and spurned from the pale of society, at last, wearied 
with the unequal struggle, sunk beneath the stern ordeal, 
and rashly ended his unhappy life. 

I also visited Green-Arbor Court on the Old Bailey, 
where Goldsmith spent several years writing for the press, 
at the foot of a dangerous flight of stairs, called Break- 
neck Steps. Here he wrote a large part of the Citizen of 
the World. The old building is now removed to make 
room for some stables. It is a miserable, filthy place, the 
abode of wretchedness and poverty, though within a few 
yards of two great thoroughfares, Farringdon street and 
Holborn. 

How lamentable that those who have done the most to 
refine and elevate society, whose powerful intellects have 
worked a magic revolution in the mind of man, are so 
often consigned to poverty and want, while those whom 
circumstances throw to the surface and expose to public 
view, without any merit of their own, roll in luxury and 
wealth. When will society assume its proper phase, and 
mind reign supreme '( When will intellect and mental 
superiority be recognized and appreciated in the living 



124 MILTON'S ECSTACY. 

man, instead of leaving him to drag out a miserable ex- 
istence, and wait for the fame he feels must be his own, 
till he has laid down to rest among the promiscuous 
millions of his fellow men ? 

Milton street is memorable as the former residence of 
the immortal author of Paradise Lost, and is also noted 
in the literary world as the Grubb street of Pope's inimi- 
table Dunciad ; and the butt of many satires and sparkles 
of wit from his humorous pen. The author and publisher, 
Colley Cibber, and others who gave notoriety to Grubb 
street, drew down the vengeance of Pope in a series of 
satirical verses, that will live long after their subjects have 
sunk into total oblivion, save through this questionable 
channel to sarcastic fame. It is a narrow, quiet street, 
without business, except a few butchers' shambles and gro- 
cers' shops; the buildings are very poor and old, and 
perhaps some of them were looked upon by the immortal 
bard, as he rambled along in his evening walks, absorbed 
in a poet's glowing fancies, or rapt in ecstatic reverie ; 
but no trace of his former residence seems to be preserved. 

How sacred would be the humble room where he 
dictated the seraphic strains of his burning fancy. With 
what awe and reverence his wondering daughters must 
have looked upon the glowing features of their poor blind 
father, as entranced in the " celestial light" that did in- 
deed "shine inward," he strove to express in outward 
language a faint ideal of those burning visions that were 
flashing through his enraptured mind ! What a shrine 
for the respectful adoration of the literary world ; what a 
Mecca of the human mind, would be the hallowed birth- 
place of Paradise Lost ! Humble in life, and neglected 
by his cotemporaries, he now stands on the very pinnacle 
of the Temple of Fame, a household word wherever his 
native tongue is spoken, and incorporated with the home 
language of all, like the dear familiar names around the 
domestic firesides of his admiring countrymen. 

One Sabbath evening whilst making some inquiries of 
a man in the street, I mentioned the name of Milton 
perhaps with more fervor than I intended, when he 
replied, Is it the name of Milton that stirs you ? Milton 



POET WORSHIP. 125 

lies buried in yonder church, pointing to St. Giles, Crip- 
plegate ; go there and you will find both his statue and 
his grave. I thanked him cordially and hastened to the 
spot. Service was being performed ; I entered and took 
my seat among the worshippers, but my thoughts were 
more on the poet than the prayers. After the congre- 
gation dispersed I looked long and reverently on the 
beautiful white marble bust, and lingered in silent con- 
templation by the grave of the world's great poet, where 
the nations bring their votive offerings as to a hallowed 
shrine to bow and worship at the funeral urn, where rests 
the dust'of him we all admire. I returned to my lodg- 
ings in no common frame of mind, and retired to rest 
with the glorious visions of Paradise Lost racing through 
my fancy, beautified, illumined, and sanctified, by the 
thrilling events of the evening. 

But it is time to break away from London. I have 
lingered among its attractive scenes till they have twined 
themselves with my inmost affections. I paid a farewell 
visit to Westminster Abbey, lingered once more amid its 
sombre halls, and visited for the last time the final resting 
place of England's greatest sons and daughters ; bade a 
last adieu to Poet's Corner, and left the sequestered shades 
of that classic hall, to indulge no more the solemn reflec- 
tions that come pouring over the mind when mingling 
with the mighty shades that hover in its grateful gloom. 
I spent another day in the British Museum ; looked once 
more among the manuscripts ; visited the North Gallery, 
and ran generally through all the departments of that 
great institution, and finally left it, not without a sigh, 
that from henceforth this inexhaustible fountain of knowl- 
edge and amusement, this unfailing source of profit, must 
be forever closed to my view. I then took my way to the 
Thames, gave a passing parting glance to St. Paul's, and 
soon after my feet pressed for the last time the pavements 
of this great city. I stepped on board a boat which 
loosed from the wharf, and I floated off reluctantly from 
the shores of the classic Thames. 

Long have I lingered amid the crowds of London, and 
its attractions increase with acquaintance. The British 
10* 



126 



ADIEU TO LONDON. 



Museum, the Crystal Palace, the Exhibition, the hallowed 
Abbey, and the glorious St. Paul's, have thrown their 
charms around me, and I find myself the victim of ex- 
treme regret at parting from its countless attractions. I 
caught a view of the glorious dome, looming upward 
through the fog as we floated down the river ; I bade it 
farewell, as if it had been a friend who would receive and 
reciprocate my attachment ; then turned away from the 
receding city and it faded from my view. As we floated 
on, the towers of the Crystal Palace and its curved roof 
of glass glittered in the distance, and the noble Observa- 
tory at Greenwich came gradually into view. I watched 
them till they were lost in a screen of trees, and they 
formed a fitting close to the brilliant panorama of wonders 
that has of late been floating before my view. 




CHAPTER XXII. 

STONEHENGE — ITS MYSTERY — ENCIRCLING MOUNDS — SUPER- 
STITIOUS WHIMS — DOWNS OF WILTSHIRE. 

" There is a temple in ruin stands , 
Fashioned by long forgotten hands ; 
Two or three columns, and many a stone, 
Rough and unpolished, with grass o'ergrown." — Byron. 

FEW miles from the city of Salisbury, amid the 
downs of Wiltshire, stand the remains of one of 
Nr those mysteries of the olden time, the ruins of 
Stonehenge. I left the train at Wishford, a little Welsh- 
looking village, with thatched roofs, standing in a valley 
on the Avon, six miles from the Stones, and taking my 
course across the downs, or prairies as we would call them 
in our western country, which presented an unbroken grass 
sod, with but few landmarks and an extensive view, I soon 
saw the stones rising in solitary grandeur in the distance. 
Stonehenge stands on the eastern slope of a gently 
swelling hill, in the midst of a beautiful rolling prairie, 
wild and uncultivated, with not a tree in view except a 



STONEHENGE. 127 

few artificial groves of evergreens planted for coverts for 
the game, and not a stone, large or small to be found, ex- 
cept those enormous blocks, within some miles of the 
ruins. It appears to have been a temple of the Druids, 
probably for the worship of the sun, and the offering of 
human sacrifices, in accordance with the horrid rites of 
their religion. 

It consists of a circle of enormous stones, about twenty 
feet high, from six to eight broad, and about two in thick- 
ness, originally standing on end, with capstones placed 
upon them, held in their places by short tenons, rounded 
at the top, and setting into corresponding mortises in the 
caps. This, circle is about a hundred feet in diameter ; 
the stones standing from two to four feet apart. Inside 
of this circlo is another, less regular, leaving a corridor 
between them, and a few irregular blocks stand at differ- 
ent points within the enclosure. They are mostly of 
regular form, with apparently a natural surface, bear no 
tool marks except on some of the tenons, and are covered 
with a very slight growth of moss. Some are very much 
water-worn, one especially, near the base, deep hollows 
being scooped out half way through it; and others are 
irregular, with large spawls knocked off the edges. They 
are perhaps a hundred in number, but a superstitious whim 
prevails in the neighborhood that they cannot be counted. 
Most of them have fallen and lay in confusion on the 
ground, especially the western half of the outer circle, 
and nearly all the inner, while others lean very much, and 
a few remain upright. Five of the capstones remain in 
their places. Judging from the stones that have fallen, 
those which still retain their upright position, cannot 
stand over two feet in the ground at the furthest. 

There is a deep mystery connected with these monstrous 
ruins. The old threadbare difficulty of transporting and 
erecting them, we cannot expect ever to have solved, but 
the present fact that stares us in the face is scarcely less a 
wonder. The soil is a loose mold, resting on a chalk base. 
What keeps them in their places, in defiance of wind and 
rain and frost ? There they stand, seemingly threatening 
to fall, just as they have done during the memory of man. 




130 CHEPSTOW, 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

CHEPSTOW — SCENERY OF THE WYE — ABORTIVE EFFORTS AT 
DESCRIPTION — ANALYSIS OF ITS CHARACTER — DOUBLE 
VIEW — MEANDERJNGS OF THE WYE — WYNDCLIFF — 
ASCENT OF WYNDCLIFF — VIEW FROM SUMMIT — START- 
LING SURPRISE — TINTERN — TINTERN ABBEY — INTERIOR 
— FALLS OF LLANDOGO — DEPARTURE FROM THE WYE. 

•' Behold yon breathing prospect bids the Muse 
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint 
Like Nature ? Can imagination boast 
Amid its gay creation hues like hers? 
****** If fancy then 
Unequal fail beneath the pleasing task, 
Ah what can language do? * * * 
Yet, though successless, will the toil delight."— Thomson. 

ROM the city of Bristol a daily steamer plies to 
Chepstow on the river Wye. A delightful sail 
across the Bristol Channel, or rather the river 
Severn, which is here about twelve miles wide, brought us 
to the mouth of the famous Wye, which we entered be- 
tween low sandy banks, that give little earnest of the 
enchanting scenery that awaits him who travels a few 
miles up the stream. 

Chepstow is an ancient village of a few thousand inhabi- 
tants, on the Welsh bank of the Wye, about three miles 
from the Channel, where a high rocky bluff drops off in a 
green grassy bank to the margin of the river. The town 
has but little modern beauty, and the streets wind up the 
hill-side in irregular form, with little peculiarity beyond 
the general features of antique towns. Just above the 
town stand the ruins of a magnificent castle, on the very 
brink of the precipice, which rises perpendicular from 
the water's edge. The walls enclose an area of several 
acres. It is kept in neat repair by a family who derive 
their support from the visitors who flock to see the 
splendid' ruin. Flower shows are held in it at intervals, 
during the summer months. The old castle of solid stone 
masonry, varied with circular turrets at intervals, rising 
above the general outline of the walls, looks grand and 
majestic from the grounds outside, while the mantle of 



SCENERY OF THE WYE. 131 

age which time has thrown over the venerable ruin, 
heightens the charm of its intrinsic beauty. A light and 
graceful iron bridge is thrown across the Wye, which 
here forms the dividing line between Monmouthshire, in 
Wales, and Gloucestershire, in England. 

The scenery of this vicinity is certainly very fine, and 
such as enthusiastic natures may well go into ecstacies 
over, for more rich and beautiful landscapes are rarely 
found than on the banks of this meandering stream. It 
has been fashionable with all visitors to task their powers 
of language to the utmost, to utter what every sensitive 
mind must feel, when viewing for the first time those 
graceful productions of Nature's more amiable moods. 
Critics of great ambition and small calibre, " have strained 
themselves to utter bulky words of admiration vast," and 
have succeeded in conveying to other minds a confused 
idea of something very pretty, and a very clear concep- 
tion that the writer was grappling with a theme beyond 
his power. 

These landscapes have been pronounced " immensely 
pretty;" " astonishingly beautiful." Many a poor wight 
instead of soberly telling us what he has seen, has spoiled his 
paper and wasted his own time, and what is worse, that of 
his unlucky reader, in giving vent to a string of sonorous 
adjectives and broken ejaculations, while another class, 
conscious of their inability to convey the emotions of their 
own minds, have abandoned the war of words, and 
mounting higher in their ambition, have closed with the 
greatness of their ideas, and after a pompous preamble, 
when the reader fancies he is coming to a master stroke, 
the combatant dexterously changes his thrust in the 
moment of conflict, and comes off more than conqueror, 
by the sublime obscurity with which he mystifies his sub- 
ject, declaring at last, that "the powers of language are 
useless (! !) in conveying an idea of scenes so extensive 
and so varied." And the poet too has tried his powers 
upon this fertile theme, and his numbers go trilling along 
in a ceaseless stream of puerilities. 

And now what are those landscapes, that have been pro- 
nounced so formidably beautiful ? I will endcavw to give 



132 ANALYSIS OF SCENERY. 

a faithful outline, leaving the lights and shades of the pic- 
ture to be filled up, according to the warmth of fancy in those 
who see proper to follow me. In the first place, that we may 
not be misled by indistinct ideas, let us see what the lead- 
ing features of these landscapes are. The scenery has a 
strong character of individuality, which serves to distin- 
guish it from all others. It is not essentially romantic ; — 
with the single exception of Wyndcliff, it is certainly not 
sublime j — its principal characteristic is that of the most 
transcendent beauty ; a peculiar, perhaps an unparalleled 
mingling of the graceful outline of hill and valley, with 
the accidental distribution of cultivated lands and wild 
native woods ; the dottings of farm-houses and orchards ; 
the distant village, whose hum of business is lost on the 
intermediate air, and the ever-varying, but ever-beautiful 
outline of water, which cheers, beautifies and enlivens 
everything with its life-giving presence ; these, which are 
the essential features of all landscapes, are here combined 
in their utmost perfection \ indeed, it would perhaps be 
beyond the powers of the most lively fancy, to imagine 
more beautiful combinations than are here presented to 
the eye. 

The river is small when the tide is out, which, by the 
way, rises higher here than at any other place, except the 
bay of Funday, and pursues a very winding course ; a gen- 
eral feature perhaps of all streams presenting uncommon 
beauty of scenery. The surrounding country is very 
rolling, thus by the effect of perspective, giving great 
variety to the view as the spectator changes his place. 
The combinations are continually changing, the features 
of the landscape are ever varying. 

At one place, two miles above Chepstow, on the English 
side of the river, is a peculiar point called the Double 
View, from the fact that a person standing on this eleva- 
ted spot, has a landscape of surpassing beauty up the 
stream on his right, and a wild romantic view of the 
lower course of the river to his left, the Severn in the 
distance, and the hills of Somerset far away on the hori- 
zon beyond. The river here makes a series of sweeping 
curves, and almost returns into itself at several successive 



DOUBLE VIEW. 133 

points. A high ridge of land projects in between two 
curves, and dropping rapidly off, expands into a wide 
circular lawn, under the highest cultivation, falling gently 
away to the water's edge, and glowing with the earliest 
tints of spring. 

Around the outskirts of this beautiful meadow sweeps 
the romantic Wye, washing the base of an amphitheatre 
of frowning cliffs, that rise in rugged grandeur from the 
opposite side, around one point of the curve projecting 
out in thirteen points of bald and hoary promontories of 
naked rock, known by the somewhat fanciful names of 
St. Pefeer's Thumb and the Twelve Apostles, in another 
falling back from the river in a beautiful rolling green, 
when the ground suddenly becomes rugged and broken, 
and the rocks shoot upwards to a dizzy height in a bleak 
perpendicular wall thinly dotted with evergreens spring- 
ing out of the crevices of the rock, forming the famous 
Wyndcliff, which is capped with a clump of forest trees 
seemingly overhanging the precipice. The hill sides are 
skirted with evergreens and dense masses of shrubbery, 
while beyond this rugged foreground the distant country 
is seen receding in beautiful perspective, hill towering 
over hill, and field succeeding field, till the landscape is 
lost in the indistinct horizon. 

On the right a wide expanse of the most beautiful 
scenery opens upon the view, a lovely vale in general 
form approaching an oval, with many successive points of 
hills projecting within the border, and thrown by the 
effect of perspective into graceful and varied groups, 
while a large mound in the distance closes the view, and 
fills the upper portion of the oval. Through this beauti- 
ful dell flows the sparkling river with many a winding 
bout, now washing a series of highly tilled fields, with 
flocks and herds grazing on the luxuriant pastures ; now 
enlivened with blooming orchards, or decked with bril- 
liant wreathes of flowers, flung over its limpid waters 
from the gardens that border its banks ; now lingering in 
a shady nook,» where dense forests throw over it a grateful 
gloom, while a rocky wall towers upward in frowning 
grandeur from the opposite bank; and now enlivened with 
12 



134 VIEW FROM WYNDCLIFF. 

cheerful cottages, where blooming meadows and fertile 
fields salute its passing wave ; the meandering stream 
sways to and fro, as if loitering in the enchanted vale. 

On the left, looking down the stream, the height upon 
which you stand dashes off in a perpendicular wall 
several hundred feet high, against which the river washes 
as it rounds the meadow before you, and is sent sweeping 
off on another curve, till after many successive windings, 
it finds its way to the Bristol Channel, whose waters 
gleam in the distance like a line of silver light. 

I afterwards ascended the heights of Wyndcliff by a 
path of very gradual ascent, leading off from the turn- 
pike road. In the midst of the clump of trees that 
crowns its. summit, a little rustic arbor is constructed for 
the accommodation of the curious traveler. Upon reach- 
ing this cozy little retreat, a scene of the most surpassing 
beauty opens upon the view. Peeping out from under 
the overhanging branches, the eye ranges over a land- 
scape of great extent, one peculiar advantage of which 
is that it is all taken in at a glance : — there is but one 
opening, and that commands a landscape most supremely 
fine. 

The crystal waters of the Wye go sweeping on their 
winding course more than a thousand feet below, the 
romantie Double View, which is now before you, is trans- 
formed into a gently swelling hill, the perpendicular 
ledge of rocks below, loses its terrors in the distance, and 
the sublime is mellowed down to the picturesque; St. 
Peter's Thumb and its companions skirt the margin of 
the river in the sweeping curve below you ; the central 
portions of the picture are filled up with a countless 
variety of hill and dale, dotted with cheerful looking 
cottages, and checkered with multitudes of fields, whose 
hedges, instead of fences, greatly enhance the beauty of 
the scene, while the wide expanse of the Bristol Channel 
glitters in the sunlight, with many vessels coursing over 
its tranquil bosom, and beyond this, in the dim back- 
ground, the misty hills of old Somerset fall away in the 
horizon, like a border faintly visible to this picture of 
poetic beauty. 



STARTLING SURPRISE. 185 

Having long admired this delightful scene, I stepped 
forward to a low stone wall just in front of me, forgetful 
of the place whereon I stood, when I was horror struck 
to find myself standing on the very brink of the preci- 
pice, and looking sheer downwards into a fearful abyss, 
hundreds of feet in depth, where a pebble dropped at 
arms length would have fallen clear and struck the rocks 
at the bottom. Below me the summit of a straggling 
forest swayed to and fro in the breeze, and a steep shelv- 
ing bank of broken fragments of rock fell away with 
a rapid declivity to the rolling grounds of the valley. 

It was some time before I could calmly admire the 
surpassing grandeur of the scene. It flashed upon me so 
suddenly and so unexpectedly, that for a moment I felt 
almost disconnected from the earth and floating about in 
a cloudy chariot, my head swam, and I seemed to be 
entranced in a midnight dream, till, recovering from the 
momentary surprise, and. satisfied that firm ground was 
still beneath my feet, and plenty of room for retreat in 
the rear, I enjoyed anew the wonderful prospect, and 
endeavored to realize a faint idea of the sublimity of 
Alpine scenery. 

I then took a narrow path along the brink of this dizzy 
precipice* to a flight of steps that went plunging down 
the face of the rock, winding about with a* tortuous 
course, now entering a recess in the precipice, where the 
frowning walls projected out on either hand, and over- 
hung me with a dark and gloomy grandeur, and now 
running outward beyond the walls as they followed some 
narrow ledge, far below which lay a mass of rugged rocks, 
covered with beautiful moss from the everlasting moisture 
that trickles down from the towering cliffs, and passing 
through the Giant's Cave, a savage rent in the rocks, 
perhaps a hundred yards in length, wide enough for two 
to walk abreast, and forming a pointed arch above, till 
arrived at the base of the cliffs the steps become a gravel 
path, winding to and fro among loose fragments of stone 
and the thinly scattered trees, to a beautiful, little rural 
retreat, called the Moss Cottage, embowered in a shady 
grove, and encircled by a barrier of rocks, enclosing it on 



134 VIEW FROM WYNDCLIFF. 

cheerful cottages, where blooming meadows and fertile 
fields salute its passing wave ; the meandering stream 
sways to and fro, as if loitering in the enchanted vale. 

On the left, looking down the stream, the height upon 
which you stand dashes off in a perpendicular wall 
several hundred feet high, against which the river washes 
as it rounds the meadow before you, and is sent sweeping 
off on another curve, till after many successive windings, 
it finds its way to the Bristol Channel, whose waters 
gleam in the distance like a line of silver light. 

I afterwards ascended the heights of Wyndcliff by a 
path of very gradual ascent, leading off from the turn- 
pike road. In the midst of the clump of trees that 
crowns its. summit, a little rustic arbor is constructed for 
the accommodation of the curious traveler. Upon reach- 
ing this cozy little retreat, a scene of the most surpassing 
beauty opens upon the view. Peeping out from under 
the overhanging branches, the eye ranges over a land- 
scape of great extent, one peculiar advantage of which 
is that it is all taken in at a glance : — there is but one 
opening, and that commands a landscape most supremely 
fine. 

The crystal waters of the Wye go sweeping on their 
winding course more than a thousand feet below, the 
romantie Double View, which is now before you, is trans- 
formed into a gently swelling hill, the perpendicular 
ledge of rocks below, loses its terrors in the distance, and 
the sublime is mellowed down to the picturesque; St. 
Peter's Thumb and its companions skirt the margin of 
the river in the sweeping curve below you ; the central 
portions of the picture are filled up with a countless 
variety of hill and dale, dotted with cheerful looking 
cottages, and checkered with multitudes of fields, whose 
hedges, instead of fences, greatly enhance the beauty of 
the scene, while the wide expanse of the Bristol Channel 
glitters in the sunlight, with many vessels coursing over 
its tranquil bosom, and beyond this, in the dim back- 
ground, the misty hills of old Somerset fall away in the 
horizon, like a border faintly visible to this picture of 
poetic beauty. 



STARTLING SURPRISE. 185 

Having long admired this delightful scene, I stepped 
forward to a low stone wall just in front of me, forgetful 
of the place whereon I stood, when I was horror struck 
to find myself standing on the very brink of the preci- 
pice, and looking sheer downwards into a fearful abyss, 
hundreds of feet in depth, where a pebble dropped at 
arms length would have fallen clear and struck the rocks 
at the bottom. Below me the summit of a straggling 
forest swayed to and fro in the breeze, and a steep shelv- 
ing bank of broken fragments of rock fell away with 
a rapid declivity to the rolling grounds of the valley. 

It was some time before I could calmly admire the 
surpassing grandeur of the scene. It flashed upon me so 
suddenly and so unexpectedly, that for a moment I felt 
almost disconnected from the earth and floating about in 
a cloudy chariot, my head swam, and I seemed to be 
entranced in a midnight dream, till, recovering from the 
momentary surprise, and. satisfied that firm ground was 
still beneath my feet, and plenty of room for retreat in 
the rear, I enjoyed anew the wonderful prospect, and 
endeavored to realize a faint idea of the sublimity of 
Alpine scenery. 

I then took a narrow path along the brink of this dizzy 
precipicej to a flight of steps that went plunging down 
the face of the rock, winding about with a* tortuous 
course, now entering a recess in the precipice, where the 
frowning walls projected out on either hand, and over- 
hung me with a dark and gloomy grandeur, and now 
running outward beyond the walls as they followed some 
narrow ledge, far below which lay a mass of rugged rocks, 
covered with beautiful moss from the everlasting moisture 
that trickles down from the towering cliffs, and passing 
through the G-iant's Cave, a savage rent in the rocks, 
perhaps a hundred yards in length, wide enough for two 
to walk abreast, and forming a pointed arch above, till 
arrived at the base of the cliffs the steps become a gravel 
path, winding to and fro among loose fragments of stone 
and the thinly scattered trees, to a beautiful, little rural 
retreat, called the Moss Cottage, embowered in a shady 
grove, and encircled by a barrier of rocks, enclosing it on 



1SG TINTERN ABBEY, 

two sides, making it one of the most romantic spots the 
fancy could wish to contemplate. 

From this place the road winds along the river bottom 
to the little village of Tintern, a few miles higher up. 
There seems to be a charm thrown over this region of 
which everything partakes. The hills, which are always 
graceful in form, here assume a peculiar elegance. The 
forests, entirely destitute of that stupendous size which 
impresses the beholder in our own land, are*reduced to a 
comparative growth of underbrush, and varied with ever- 
greens, whose sombre foliage finely contrasts with the 
lighter shades of the opening leaves, while naked rocks 
here and there break the monotony of verdure, and 
tower aloft in solemn grandeur on the declivity of the 
hills, and occasionally a cultivated spot is perched high 
up on the rapid slopes, or the open fields are visible 
beyond the hills that border the river bottom. 

The village of Tintern is situated in a lovely little dell, 
with high hills encircling it on every side, so that you 
seem standing in a closed basin, the windings of the 
river completely concealing its points of ingress and 
egress. Its leading feature is a ruined Abbey of the 
most surpassing beauty. It stands on a fine green lawn, 
gently falling away to the margin of the Wye, which 
here ret»eats to the opposite side of the dell, and an aged 
orchard throws its sombre shade over its hoary walls, 
while a rich mantle of ever verdant ivy crowns the 
beautiful ruin, clothing the antique building with a 
drapery of nature's own workmanship, and adorning the 
decaying grandeur of an age gone by, with a robe of living 
green, gracefully harmonizing with the romantic beauty 
of the scenery around. 

Upon throwing open the western door, a scene of the 
most enchanting beauty bursts upon the view. A double 
line of grey old columns borders the spacious nave, which 
is spanned by the central arches that supported the 
tower j the ivy creeping along the mouldering walls and 
climbing the beautiful pillars, or hanging in rich festoons 
in the shady corners of the aisles, together with the 
magic effect of the sunlight as it streams through these 



FALLS OP LLANDOGO. 137 

deserted halls, or peeps in at the ivy-curtained windows 
throwing its fantastic shadows over the green turf floor, 
and pouring over this grand old ruin a flood of golden 
light, all combine to form a scene, where the Spirit of 
Beauty divides the throne with the Genius of Decay. 

From the interior the view is equally fine. The 
various parts of the beautiful structure are now seen 
with their full effect; the ivy, which is onet>f its most 
prominent features, assumes the most elegant formS, now 
hanging in clustering folds from the crown of a noble 

(DO O 

pillar, and now sending a delicate tendril creeping along 
the decaying wall to meet an ofishoot from a neighbor- 
ing window, or wreathing the delicate lattice with a 
tracery of living green, it throws a mantle of surpassing 
beauty over this relic of the olden time, mingling the 
freshness of youth with the pallor of age, and making it 
glorious in its decay. 

A short distance above Tintern is the romantic water- 
fall of Llandogo. A beautiful little stream, while running 
its merry race, comes suddenly to a wild gorge on the 
brow of a shaggy hill, falling with a very steep declivity 
to the meadows which border the Wye beneath. Down 
this rocky defile the little rivulet plunges with headlong 
speed, leaping from crag to crag in the hurry of its 
course, now hiding for an instant beneath a tuft of grass, 
or a cluster of moss-covered rocks, then peeping out 
again, it sparkles for a moment in the sunbeam that comes 
struggling through the canopy of trees, and again darts 
down another steep, dancing and laughing in sportive 
glee, till it finally reaches the plain beneath, and goes 
murmuring on to the beautiful Wye, with its tribute of 
crystal wealth. 

But I must leave this home of poetic beauty, this land 
where the Fairies might dwell, and the Muses retire 
from the groves of Arcadia. My affections have clustered 
around the beauties of this fair land ; they have twined 
themselves with the ivy that clings to the Abbey walls; 
they linger in the shady dells where sparkles the mur- 
muring Wye; they hover on the mountain tops where 
the glorious prospect spreads afar ; and they mingle with 
12* 



138 DEPARTURE FROM THE WYE. 

deep regrets that this land must be seen no more. Yet 
amid these beautiful scenes, the eye of the mind instinct- 
ively turns to a land more serenely fair, that rises beyond 
the western wave, .where the evening twilight lingers ; 
where my truest affections repose ; where the Genius of 
Progress has fixed his abode, and the Goddess of Liberty 
folded her wings to rest. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

STRATFORD-ON-AVON — SHAKSPEARE MANSION — HIS NATIVE ROOM 
HIS PORTRAIT SHAKSPEARE RELICS SHAKSPEARE GAR- 
DENS — REV. (?) GASTRELL — CHURCH OP THE HOLY TRINITY 

SHAKSPEARE'8 GRAVE REGISTER OF HIS BIRTH TRIBUTE TO 

HIS MEMORY. 

" He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. 
Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight 
In other men, lias freshias morning rose 
And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home 
Where angels bashful looked." — Pollok. 

"And sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, 
Warbled his native wood notes wild." — Milton. 

jSUIUNG the spring I took occasion to visit the 
inl little village of Stratford-on- Avon, the birth-place, 
^£#> home, and death-scene of the great and immortal 
Shakspeare. Perhaps it is little less than sacrilege, thus 
to intrude my diminutive nature into the arena where 
lived, and loved, and sung this greatest of the sons of 
men, whose fame irradiates yon antique church, shooting 
upward its pointed spire from' the resting place of his 
mortal body, with a lustre that far transcends the 
splendor of St- Peter's or St. Paul's. 

The place of his birth is a quaint old mansion on Hen- 
ley street, with gothic windows and a double door divided 
horizontally, standing immediately on the street without 
a yard in front ; a heavy frame with the intervals filled 
with masonry. On ringing the bell, an elderly lady of 
very pleasant countenance answered my call, and I was 




shakspeare's birthplace. 139 

ushered into the kitchen of that rustic old building ; a 
small and rough apartment with plastered walls. A small 
room has been partitioned from one corner, but otherwise 
it is as nearly as possible the same as when the poet-boy 
held his youthful frolics in its plain enclosure. From this 
room we pass into another small apartment, with a large 
old-fashioned fire-place. In each chimney corner stands 
a carved arm-chair; in the back of one is cut the date 
1608, and they look like the very abode of social comfort 
and convivial freedom, in the good old times, when men 
were free to live and act and speak as nature prompted, 
and mutual respect dictated. 

From this room we ascended a winding stairway to the 
upper story, and I was ushered into the self-same apart- 
ment where William Shakspeare first drew breath, on the 
23d of April, 1564. This apartment, a rough square 
room, with plastered walls and ceiling completely covered 
with names, and which is not high enough for a tall man 
to stand erect, claims to be one of the chief localities of 
England. Here are several articles of ancient furniture, 
but they are wisely not even claimed to be identified with 
the time of Shakspeare, except an old-fashioned writing 
desk of oak, curiously carved, "which is known to have 
belonged to one of his friends/' and hence the probability 
is that he has often seen and handled it. 

We now passed out into a kind of attic, and through 
this into another bedroom, where is the famous portrait of 
the poet lately discovered, in the dress and color of his 
age. It was found some time since by an artist while 
searching among the old rubbish in a gentleman's man- 
sion of Stratford. On clearing away the dirt the old 
picture came out in good preservation. It was completely 
restored, and is now considered the most perfect and reli- 
able likeness of the poet extant. It is set in a heavy 
frame, said to be made from the fragments of his house 
at New Place, and enclosed in a massive iron sale, with 
heavy doors and double and intricate lock, making it 
damp-proof, fire-proof, and burglar-proof. Every night it 
is locked as carefully as if it contained the Ko-hi-noor. 
Close by the picture hangs a deed given to the poet for a 



140 SHAKSPEARE RELICS. 

house and lot in Stratford, and this, also, there can be no 
doubt, he has seeja and handled. 

At the back of the house is a garden laid out in very 
tasteful style ; it contains no plant which is not mentioned 
in his works, and the catalogue is nearly full. A wall 
divides the garden from the street at the back, in which 
is a double iron gate, surmounted by Shakspeare's family 
crest — a falcon and spear. 

Here, then, the Bard of Avon first drew breath ; here 
his little feet pattered and danced in the fervor of childish 
joy; here his wonderful mind first opened to the enchant- 
ing beauties and sublimities of that world both of matter 
and mind, which he afterwards portrayed with such a 
master hand, and into whose mysterious depths he looked 
with a searching gaze not given to the ordinary man, and 
discovered new beauties and profound depths of intellectual 
wealth, which before had lain hid in the unsearchable 
mysteries of nature. 

In another building a collection of Shakspeare relics 
are exhibited, directly or remotely connected with his 
personal history; a bust copied from the one in the 
church, which is known to have been in the family as 
early as 1623 ; around the head is a segment of a circle, 
inscribed with the words from Hamlet, " We shall not 
look upon his like again;" a chest once the property of 
Anne Hathaway ; a small chair belonging to their only son 
Hamnet, twin brother to one of their daughters, and 
who died at twelve years of age ; a piece of his mulberry 
tree, and other articles. They were formerly in the house 
where he was born, but the old lady in charge having 
received notice to leave, carried them with her. She 
maliciously whitewashed the walls, which were literally 
covered with names in pencil or scratched on the plaster, 
thus effacing the autographs of many men of great celeb- 
rity, but as a recompeuse also blotting out a countless host 
of Smiths, and Browns, and Joneses, and Simpletons, 
who had audaciously intruded their worthless autographs 
upon these honored walls, where the one great name whose 
lustre obscures all others, is inscribed in imperishable 
memory. 



ENTHUSIASM VERSUS GASTRELLISM. 141 

Shakspeare's garden is now a vacant lot. Here ; on his 
return from London with a competence, for those early 
times, he built a mansion and spent the evening of his 
life ; and this chosen home of a poet received the in- 
tensely prosaic name of JVew Place ! He laid out his 
gardens, probably in the prevailing style of the period, 
and planted a mulberry tree with his own hand, which 
grew and flourished, and became a great tree, that the 
fairies and graces of poetry might lodge in .the branches 
thereof, and for many years, after the world awoke to a 
consciousness of the powers of that great mind, this 
garden, this house, and this tree, were among the most 
cherished mementoes of this illustrious town. 

About 1752 the property fell into the hands of an 
Episcopal clergyman named Gastrell. He had no capacity 
within his pigmy soul to cherish or admire that tree, 
illustrated by its great gardener ; yet others, of finer 
minds and warmer natures, came in crowds to pay their 
homage at the shrine of Shakspeare's home. He did not, 
occupy the house, but was assessed for the taxes upon 
it. From these annoyances he had but one means of 
escape. He ordered the tree cut down and the house torn 
away ; when he thrust the tax money in his dirty pocket, 
and exulted in his freedom from the importunity of visit- 
ers, whose warm enthusiasm he could not comprehend. 
Why slept the vengeance of the sacred Nine ? Why did 
not Apollo launch his shaft and lay the vile intruder low ? 
His flock, enraged by the deed, expelled him from their 
midst. He left in disgrace ; but this did not restore the 
honored tree, did not rebuild the venerated house. 

The church of the Holy Trinity where he lies buried, 
is an antique building, dating from the fifteenth century. 
A square tower overtops the walls, from which shoots up 
a spire, tapering gradually to a point. A grove of shady 
trees surrounds the gray old building, and an avenue of 
graceful limes forms a fine arched walk, leading from the 
entrance' gate to the door. Just at this time when they 
are arraying themselves in their summer garb, while yet 
the freshness of early spring breathes from every bough, 
the shade is delightfully pleasant. 



142 MEDITATIONS AMONG THE TOMBS. 

On either hand numerous gravestones checker the grassy 
sod, where fond affection has decked the graves of those 
whose memories to us are totally lost, or rather whose 
names never lived, save in the sacred casket of domestic 
affection and social fellowship. There is something humil- 
iating in having a host of names thus obtruded upon the 
view, when the mind is absorbed in the reflection, that 
amid these scenes one of the world's great master-spirits 
lived and moved ; and when the thought comes home to 
the mind, that we too are among the throng of undistin- 
guished men, whose memory will be lost almost before the 
breath leaves the body, and no memorial more impressive 
than the monument which another shall erect, will remain 
to tell that ever we have lived. Happy they who erect 
their own monument, without the aid of the sculptor's 
art j and select for themselves a place in the world's re- 
nown, not trusting to the treacherous voice of Fame. 

The o4d records of baptisms and deaths are here pre- 
served, in which the sexton showed me the following : 

1564. April 26. 

Grulielmus Alius Johannes Shakespere, 
baptized on the 3rd day. 

Then, turning over the forgotten records of many years, 
he showed me this : 

1616. 

April 25th. Will Shakespere Gent. 

died Aprill 23rd. 

He also showed me the records of his parents' marriage — 
John Shakespere, and Mary Arden. 

And Shakspoare passed away, unconscious of the mighty 
influence he had wrought upon the human mind; uncon- 
scious that he had climbed to the highest pinnacle it is 
given to mortal man to attain, and the world, too, heeded 
not how great a spirit was gone ; and like Samson of old, 
knew not that its strength had departed, till it essayed to 
handle tragedy as before, when suddenly it was found 



TRIBUTE TO SHAKSPEARE'S MEMORY. 143 

that the master magician was gone, and his wand had lost 
its power j that the world had passed the prime of poetic 
vigor, and was falling into decay. Then was the rever- 
ence of all men directed to the great departed ; but, alas, 
not till his biography had become obscured by the mists 
of tradition, and the memories of his life confused and 
indistinct, when research was almost fruitless, and deep 
regrets entirely unavailing. 

And the great Shakspeare lives alone, but lives forever, 
in his writings ; these are his statue ; these are the burn- 
ing image of his mighty mind } these are the glory of 
England, the admiration of the world, and the affectionate 
eagerness with which the least memento of his life is 
sought, is but a spontaneous expression on the part of 
posterity, of the deep regrets which all must feel, that 
such a life, of which the world has known but one, should 
be permitted to close so nearly in obscurity. 

And yet, Immortal Bard ! thy song is deathless ; why 
should we wish to pry into the secrets of that life which 
left such precious fruits ? Thy name is enshrined forever 
in the tablets of a world's remembrance ; why should we 
long to drag thy private life before the public gaze, which 
thou so modestly evaded ? Every man feels prouder of 
his nature, when the vastness of thy powers attest the 
supreme sublimity to which the human mind is capable 
of expanding. Thy works are an inexhaustible fountain, 
from which a world may drink its fill of true poetic rap- 
ture, and, returning, find the fountain full, all fresh and 
sparkling as with untasted waters; emblemed only by 
those wondrous glaciers on the Alpine summits, above the 
tread of human feet, from which descend unceasing 
streams of water to the thirsty fields and groves, at which 
the little child may sip, and the thirsty man may quaff 
his fill — the mysterious, yet exhaustless fount of life and 
health and beauty, to a wondering world below. 



144 STORM PASSAGE TO IRELAND. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

STORM PASSAGE TO IRELAND — ON IRISH SOIL — IRISH PATRI- 
OTISM — TRIP TO PORT RUSH — ROUND TOWERS OF IRELAND 
— NORTHERN COAST — GIANT'S CAUSEWAY — COMPLIMENT 
FROM MY GUIDE — COLUMNED WALLS — DUNLUCE CASTLE. 

" The love of nature's works 
Is an ingredient in the compound man, 
Infused at the creation of the kind."— Cowper. 



mm 



jJUfgN" a blustering afternoon in April, I embarked 
from Liverpool on a storm passage to Ireland. 
" The wind blew as 'twa'd blawn its last," the 
waves howled as they raged along the sides of our little 
vessel, like an angry sea-nymph sweeping over the troubled 
waters, the whitecaps danced in the full glory of their 
triumph, the vessel rolled fearfully, now lifting herself 
up on a wave, as if about to take flight from the earth, 
she reeled for a moment on her treacherous footing, then 
down she came with a fearful plunge, dipped entirely 
beneath the water, and the foaming waves came roaring 
and rumbling over our heads, while we were snugly 
hatched down in our respective cabins, secure from the 
smallest dash of spray, and lulled to rest by this deep 
bass note in the melody of ocean. But as the evening 
advanced, the clouds broke away, the wind fell, the 
waves gradually subsided, the voice of the sea became 
milder and softer, and we eventually had a delightful 
passage, gliding to the leeward of the Isle of Man, whose 
low and gently waving shores were faintly visible in the 
glimmering starlight. Behind this mighty breakwater 
we pursued our course, with scarce a rocking of the 
vessel, and landed at Belfast on the morning of Easter 
Sunday. 

A thrill of joy, perhaps a flush of triumph, crossed 
my mind as my foot pressed the green turf of this Grem 
of the broad Atlantic. The beauties of that land to 
which so many in our country turn with longings and 
fond regrets, were about to be partially unfolded to my 



EXCURSION TO PORT RUSH, 145 

view, and the realities of personal observation, and the 
more definite figures of memory, were now about to be 
substituted for the indistinct ideas which fancy had 
pictured to itself, when bewildered with the mystery 
which St. Patrick's achievements had contributed to throw 
around it. "No wonder," I said to myself as I sped 
through their flowery vales, " that the poverty-stricken 
exiles from this beautiful land, should send back a heavy 
sigh when thoughts came surging across their minds of 
the home they have left behind, where Oppression has 
set his iron heel, and Poverty stalks in his train. They 
were forced to abandon the land of their birth for a home 
where freedom is more than a name, where the labor of 
the poor has not been absorbed by a burdensome aris- 
tocracy, and no titled lordling, in his insolence of power, 
looks down on the laboring masses, and withers the 
aspirations of genius with the chill frown of contempt." 

Upon landing at Belfast, I hastened to the station, and 
took an excursion train for Port Rush. Our route lay 
through a lovely country, much of the way on the 
margin of a broad valley of singularly varied surface, 
being broken into numerous rough distinct hillocks of 
very moderate elevation ; and the fertile soil of the 
Emerald Isle throws up a carpet of living green, and 
clothes the land with a mantle of verdure in all the fresh- 
ness and beauty of spring, more like the June fields of 
our own land, than the shivering verdure of April. 
Along our route lay several of those mysterious buildings, 
the Round Towers of Ireland. A solitary isolated tower, 
with no building attached, and festooned with the ever 
beautiful ivy, rises from a mass of verdure in a field near 
the road. It is perforated with many small narrow 
windows, and terminates in a conical cap. It looks like 
a relic of a thousand years ago. Little is known con- 
cerning the origin or use of those singular structures j 
they are supposed to have been connected with the reli- 
gious rites of the mysterious Druids. 

From Port Rush r a beautiful walk of seven miles along 
a wild and craggy shore, leads to the Giant's Causeway. 
The coast is an exceedingly rugged wall of white colored 
13 



146 RUGGED COAST LINE. 

rocks, washed and broken by the waves into the most 
fantastic shapes : deep bays and narrow ravines with 
precipitous or overhanging sides, covered with grass to 
the very brink, break up from the water's edge and 
run far back into the land ) often an extremely steep 
grassy slope forming the face of the hill, which suddenly 
drops off in a perpendicular precipice, while sheep and 
goats were quietly grazing or sporting on places 

"Where I would not have stood stock still, 
For all beneath the moon;" 

deep basins washed out in the solid rock, with bold head- 
lands projecting into them, and water worn arches cut 
far into the bank, forming dark and frightful chasms, 
through which the sea has been dashing for ages, form 
the leading features of this wild and grotesque shore. 

In one place the sea has excavated a cavern fully three 
hundred feet into the shore, when the further end fell in 
forming a well of enormous depth and size, with a per- 
pendicular wall of stone on the land side, shooting up- 
ward to a dizzy height. Across the natural arch between 
this well and the sea, passes the public road, with a wall 
on either side to protect the traveler from the fearful 
precipice. On the sea side of the road, is also a fright- 
ful gorge, totally inaccessible from above, save by a steep 
winding path, leading down the sloping sides of broken 
rocks that have fallen into the well on the opposite side, 
and through the gloomy cavern, where the waves come 
surging and roaring into the narrow opening, and rever- 
berate in loud and prolonged echoes. In another place, 
a ledge of rock not more than ten feet thick, and over 
two hundred feet in height, projects in a straight line 
hundreds of feet into the sea, in which the waves have 
worn an oval arch, and go chasing each other as if in 
sport through this beautiful play-house of their own 
construction. Both faces are perpendicular; the rocky 
film is no thicker at the bottom than at the top, and a 
cap of green turf covers the entire surface and overhangs 
the narrow ledge. 

But we must hasten forward to the Causeway. This 



giant's causeway. 147 

strange freak of nature had long held a prominent place 
in my fancy. But a moment's actual observation some- 
times dispels the delusion of years. Knowing that the 
Causeway was intimately connected with a cliff, and fail- 
ing to distinguish between the sublime and the wonderful, 
I had adopted an idea that the three pavements of the 
Causeway lay in terraces one above another, with a high 
range of columns supporting each, except the lowest, 
which sloped off to the sea and dipped beneath the 
waves ; while in truth the cliff and Causeway are entirely 
distinct, and if the former were entirely removed the 
wonder of the Giant's Pavement would not be a whit 
diminished, while every trace of sublimity would at once 
evaporate. 

A long winding path leads down the hill to the sea- 
side, where many large rocks have fallen from the heights 
above. On reaching the base of the cliff, you step upon 
the Causeway, whose general form is that of an irregular 
right-angled triangle, the hypothenuse of which, and the 
perpendicular, project into the sea, the base forming the 
land side. The hypothenuse is very irregular, being 
broken by two deep vacancies, running far into the body of 
the Causeway, thus forming three separate points or 
capes, each one projecting further into the sea than the 
preceding ; the first is perhaps one hundred and fifty, and 
the last five hundred feet long. These are the first, second, 
and third pavements. This space is wholly filled or paved 
with basaltic columns of regularly irregular crystalline 
forms, from four to nine sided, standing on their ends 
and running down an unknown depth into the ground. 
They are of unequal heights forming an irregular, uneven 
pavement, some projecting a few inches, and others many 
feet above their immediate neighbors. This produces a 
variety of accidental constructions, all of which have re- 
ceived distinct names, as the Lady's Chair, the Honey- 
comb, the Loom and the Gate. A beautiful spring of clear 
sweet water comes bubbling up from a crevice between 
the columns, a few rods from, and a few feet above high 
water mark. In the face of the hill to the east, a heavy 
slide at some early day, discloses another set of columns 



148 COMPLIMENT FROM MY GUIDE. 

at once suggesting the idea of an organ, from its close 
resemblance. Every Christmas morning this organ plays 
the tune of St. Patrick's Day, when the Causeway dances 
three times round : — so goes the talk of the people, but 
my guide, a sensible' Irishman, said he had never got up 
early enough on that morning to hear it. 

Having seen all the prominent features of this great 
curiosity, I handed my guide sixpence, with the remark 
that I regretted not being able to give more, but my 
finances being very low, it was necessary to make my 
donations small. True to the instincts of his country, 
both in blarney and wit, he replied, " Oh, sir, an' this is 
enough, an' I'de rather go round wi' th' likes o' you for 
nothing, than with a gentleman" mark the emphasis, 
"for a shilling." Acknowledging the compliment, but 
with rather a bad grace suppressing my perception of the 
wit, I replied, not to be entirely outdone in courtesy, 
" And will you please, sir, to give me your name, for I 
may publish an- account of this visit, and if so, your 
name shall go to the public as my guide." " Faith, sir, 
indade an' I wull," says he, u my name is Archey Fall." 

To the east the coast falls off with a sudden bend to 
the south, in a series of broken precipices and deep bays, 
whose perpendicular walls of basaltic columns are fear- 
fully sublime. One of these bays is very much in the 
form of a bowl, with one side broken away. It is five 
hundred feet in depth, and the upper portion consists of 
a colonnade of pillars, lofty and regular, fused together 
at the top and bottom, the ground above being covered 
with a thin film of soil, and green carpet of grass. From 
the base of the columns a rapid slope of rocky fragments 
falls off towards the bottom, forming the rounding of the 
bowl. In other places the pillars are two stories high, 
being fused together at the top and bottom, and a second 
cornice in the middle, completely united in the same 
manner. 

These massive halls, these solemn temples of no human 
architecture, would be most impressively sublime, from 
their rocky floors, where we would be surrounded by 
their grand and lofty walls, and the echoes of the ocean 



DUNLUCE CASTLE. 149 

would be caught iu their sounding galleries, and roll 
their awful notes of praise in harmony with the fearful 
grandeur of the rocky walls around us. 

Dunluce Castle is three miles west of the Causeway. 
It stands on an isolated pillar of rock, several hundred 
feet high, cut off from the main land by a deep narrow 
gorge, the only access to the ruin being across a narrow 
stone arch spanning the chasm. The walls follow the 
outline of the rocky pillar, and rise on all sides from the 
very brink of the precipice. Through the base of this 
mammoth column the sea has washed a cavern three 
hundred and fifty feet long, and about sixty feet high. 
Clambering down the hill sides into the moat, we entered 
the inner end of the cavern, which is partially filled with 
vast masses of fallen stones ; down this again we crept 
,with caution and care, further and further into the 
gloomy abyss, till we came to the water's edge, where the 
scene is awfully grand. A dim, obscure, and shadowy 
light surrounds you, barely sufficient to make the ceiling 
of that mighty hall distinctly visible ; at your back, and 
far above you, the narrow opening through whi3h you 
entered, shaded by precipices on either hand, glimmers 
with the subdued light of day j looking seaward, through 
the high arched opening of the cave, the eye ranges over a 
wide expanse of ocean, and the waves sparkle and dance 
in the glittering sunbeam, ever and anon booming into this 
fearful cavern, and dashing over the rocks at your feet 
with a solemn and deafening roar. 

13* 



150 DESCENT FROM THE STARS, 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

DESCENT FROM THE STARS — MODERN ASTRONOMY — LORD ROSS 
— BIRR PARK — LORD ROSS'S MONSTER TELESCOPE — HIS 
WORK SHOP — CASTING HIS SPECULUM — POLISHING — MR. 
HUNTER — VIEW OF JUPITER THROUGH A LARGE TELESCOPE 
— SATURN THE MOON — GLORY OF ASTRONOMY. 

" Hands of angels, hidden from mortal eyes, shifted the scenery of the 
Heavens," — Evirett. 

" Oh, what a confluence of ethereal fires, 
From urns unnumbered, down the steep of Heaven, 
Stream to a point and centre on my sight." — Young. 



^jHU have just returned to earth, and set my foot once 
» -"flJi more on terra firma, after a visit to the immediate, 
G^MSL vicinity of the Moon, amid her vales and moun- 
tains, to the neighborhood of Jupiter, enwreathed with 
might and majesty ; and the dim and distant regions on 
the confines of our system, where sweeps in solemn 
grandeur, all silent and alone, the complex globe of 
Saturn, wrapped in his wondrous garb of mystery and 
awe. 

The revelations of modern astronomy far surpass all 
previous comprehension, and the mighty powers which 
of late have been brought to bear upon the heavenly 
bodies, involving as they do the highest perfection of 
mechanics, and the utmost precision of mathematics, 
may well be regarded as the highest attainment to which 
the human mind has yet aspired. The wonders which 
have been disclosed to the eye and the mind by the aid " 
of the telescope and mathematics, constitute the proudest 
monuments to the greatness of man's intellectual nature. 

Among the many who have lent their powers to the 
furtherance of these investigations, both by liberal dona- 
tions of wealth for the construction of instruments of 
the highest perfection, and also by close and patient 
observation, and powerful searching thought, few hold a 
<s higher place than the Earl of Iloss, whose great telescope 
of world-wide fame, is by far the most powerful instru- 



EARL OP ROSS. 151 

merit ever applied, until recently, to the purposes of 
astronomy : revealing, whenever it is pointed to the sky, 
a world of mystery and beauty little dreamed of by the 
man who has never gazed upon the worlds above him, 
under a highly magnifying power. The splendid results 
of his labors have been in a great measure the produc- 
tions of his own genius for mechanics, as well as his own 
skill in workmanship. This nobleman is rather a singu- 
lar man in his class of society. He takes hold of the 
heavy end of work, as we would say in our country, strips 
himself for labor, and sweats like a plebeian ; does much 
of the hard and dirty work of his many beautiful and 
elegant inventions, and is perhaps the only high titled 
dignitary of the Kingdom, of whom his servants can say, 
My master works at the smithing trade. 

He resides at Parsonstown, eighty-nine miles west of 
Dublin, a place of no pretensions save what it owes to 
the lustre of his scientific fame. The park in which his 
telescopes stand is a beautiful place, but not equal in 
picturesque beauty to many others. The wildness of 
nature is mingled with the regularity of art, gravel walks 
wind around the green sward, but no flower beds deco- 
rate their sides. Trees are scattered profusely around, 
noble old oaks and spreading beech throw a dense shade 
over the level lawn, and forests almost as umbrageous as 
those of nature, line the banks of a beautiful stream that 
flows through the grounds, while artificial canals and 
lakes sleep peacefully in the green shade, their bosoms 
scarcely ruffled by a breeze. From three to six o'clock 
the park is generously thrown open to the public. 

The tube of the monster telescope is about sixty feet 
long, and seven in diameter, somewhat bulged in the 
centre, and strongly hooped with iron and wood. It 
stands between two stone walls, built on the exact meri- 
dian, twenty feet apart and fifty high. The speculum, 
six feet in diameter, is placed in a square box at the 
bottom of the tube, which rests on a universal joint of 
very simple construction, allowing of free motion in time, 
or east and west, as far as the walls will permit, which, it 
will be perceived, is rather limited. A second reflector 



152 LORD ROSS'S TELESCOPES. 

is used to throw the rays to the side of the tube, where 
the eye-piece is placed, so that the observer looks at right 
angles to the tube. 

This monster instrument, with a focal distance of about 
fifty-four feet, is fitted up with a complex system of 
pulleys and chains, racks, wheels, and windlasses, to turn 
about its giant bulk to any part of the starry heavens 
within its range. It is elevated by a chain attached to 
the upper end, and working over a pulley at the north 
end of the walls, at a proper distance to allow the tube 
to sweep around to the north star. A strong segment of 
iron is attached to the east wall, on which beveled wheels 
play to steady the tube as it rises or falls, and a stout bar 
of iron, with a rack, at the bottom plays on a complex 
system of levers, to steady it when thrown northward 
beyond the perpendicular, so that a constant tension is 
maintained on the chain, even when the tube is at its 
extreme northward range. A flight of steps mounts 
each wall at the south end, and a traveling rack on which 
the observer takes his stand, is raised or lowered at 
pleasure by means of a crank. For observations near 
the zenith, a similar traveling way is attached to the top 
of the west wall, which is thrown out to the tube by 
means of a rack and pinion on the platform itself. 

Another telescope of three feet diameter, and twenty 
feet focus, with an iron tube of open wicker work, fitted 
on the same plan as the large reflector, stands near it with 
an unlimited range of motion, both in time and altitude. 
It revolves on wheels playing on a circular track, is 
elevated by chains and windlass, and has a traveling 
observation stand, which is reached by a flight of steps, 
attached to the framework supporting the instrument. 
These telescopes are worked by four men, who are con- 
stantly on duty when either the proprietor or his chief 
assistant is engaged in making observations. During the 
day the specula? are carefully protected by a covering 
from the action of the atmosphere, which would deposit 
dew upon their surface, and injure their reflecting powers. 

Having leisurely examined these wonderful instru- 
ments, I returned to my lodgings, and wrote to Lord 



HIS OBSERVATORY. 153 

Ross, requesting permission to visit the observatory by 
night and obtain a glimpse of the nocturnal heavens, 
under the immense magnifying power which he had 
brought to bear upon them. In the evening found a 
reply awaiting me at the hotel, granting my request in 
full, and directing me to call on Mr. Hunter, his chief 
astronomer, who would show me through the apartments 
and admit me to the telescope in the evening, if the 
weather was favorable. 

The next morning I called on Mr. Hunter, and pre- 
sented my note from Lord Ross. He very kindly went 
with me to the park, and after explaining all the mechan- 
ical arrangements ot the two out-door telescopes, took me 
to the observatory or study ot the proprietor, where he 
showed me a very large map of the moon in course of 
construction, also sketches of lunar spots, of the planets, 
and the nebulae, as they appeared in their telescopes, the 
transit instrument, and the time pieces, sideral and solar. 
He also showed me the eye pieces of different powers, 
and explained the method of using them. Eight hun- 
dred is their usual observing power under common favor- 
able conditions of the atmosphere. Lord Ross has on 
some occasions used a power of two thousand, which 
however, is far too high for satisfactory observations in 
common. 

He then conducted me to the work shop where the 
great speculae for these mighty instruments were pro- 
duced, almost entirely through the ingenuity, and to a 
great extent through the personal labor of Lord Ross. 
It was no easy matter to produce a speculum of perfect 
surface and true figure, six feet in diameter. The diffi- 
culties to be encountered were of a character and magni- 
tude, that those unacquainted with these matters would 
scarce believe. In the first place a casting could not be 
produced with a surface free from scales and cracks ; 
which, however minute, completely unfitted it for the 
extremely delicate purpose for which it was designed 
It will be perceived that a common good casting would 
which would not do; that a master-piece of workmanship 
have commanded the undisputed prize at the Great 



154 CASTING AND POLISHING A SPECULUM. 

Exhibition, might still be utterly worthless for this pur- 
pose ; it was not great excellence that was demanded 
it was absolute perfection, or the nearest possible approach 
to it. Numerous experiments were tried, but the same 
friable surface was still the result. 

Finally, after much thought, the expedient of casting 
it on a steel bed was tried. For this purpose plates of 
spring-steel were laid together with their flat surfaces in 
contact, till the required size was attained, the mass was 
then firmly bound together with heavy iron bands, form- 
ing, as it were, a solid plate of steel, and the surface was 
dressed into a curve approximating the shape of the specu- 
lum. Upon this plate, surrounded, of course, by a rim of 
sand, the molten metal was poured. An oven of very thick 
heavy stone walls was constructed for cooling the casting 
very slowly. All things being ready, the furnace and 
steel bed were intensely heated, the metal was poured 
into the mould and instantly drawn into the furnace, 
every aperture to which was at once closed perfectly 
tight, and the mass was left to cool, which required about 
six weeks for the best specimens. 

But when at length a perfect tasting was obtained, the 
difficulties were not half surmounted. To give such a 
mass a figure and polish capable of reflecting the rays 
from a star, to a focus sufficiently 'delicate to bear a 
mighty magnifying power, and yet remain free from dis- 
tortion, without which all else would be of no avail; was 
a task calling for new and original operations, which long 
baffled the skill of this truly great man. But the me- 
chanical powers are fully capable of adapting themselves 
by their innumerable modifications to the various wants 
of society and of science ; careful study and scrutinizing 
observation are generally successful in discovering a 
method of attaining a desired result ; and after many 
vain attempts, a complicated arrangement of machinery 
wheels, levers, eccentrics, and various other mechanical 
appliances, was constructed, which fully answered the 
requirings, and produced a highly satisfactory result. 

Two specuke, each six feet in diameter, are constructed, 
and not only are their figures perfect, but such is the 



VIEW OF SATURN. 155 

confidence in the machinery, that when they receive 
any injury, or slightly change their figure, as they some- 
times do by the springing of the metal, they arc at once 
placed upon the lathe and re-ground, which would cer- 
tainly be rather a hazardous operation, if any great prac- 
tical difficulty remained in giving them a true and 
accurate form. 

Having conducted me through these interesting rooms, 
Mr. Hunter promised, if circumstances permitted and 
the evening proved fine, to let me know at what hour to 
return and have a view of the heavenly bodies through 
his telescopes. At that time many clouds were floating 
over the sky, not, however, of a kind which threatened 
rain ) but it may be supposed I was not a little anxious 
for the state of the weather. As the evening advanced, 
however, the clouds dispersed, the moon shone forth with 
great brilliancy, and the stars twinkled and flashed in 
the blank and vacant sky, with a lustre that seemed 
doubly beautiful, and dispelled all anxious thoughts. A 
slight haze hung around the horizon, but the Moon, 
Jupiter and Saturn, the three great objects of my curi- 
osity, rode high above the mists of earth, and floated in 
unclouded ether. 

About eight o'clock, Mr. Hunter called at the hotel 
with an appointment for me to meet him in the park at 
ten. True to the appointed time, I called at the gate 
and was admitted. He was already engaged at his nightly 
task, and after a short interval, I was invited into the 
observation stand. The instrument was directed to Saturn, 
and on placing my eye to the lens, the wondrous system 
of that remote world swelled up to my view in giant 
proportions, disclosing his attendant train of satellites, 
dispersed at intervals around the parent body, and his 
majestic rings, — the standing wonder of astronomy, — en- 
folding his mighty globe in their eternal embrace. 

The instrument was then directed to Jupiter and his 
large globe, streaked with mysterious bands, like wisps 
of vapor floating in his atmosphere, and attended by his 
retinue of moons, a fitting pageant to his regal pomp, 
burst upon the view with wonderful grandeur, while 



156 GLORY OF ASTRONOMY. 

numerous little stars, far too minute for the naked eye, 
gleamed out like sparks of diamond dust, on the black 
background of the sky. 

The Moon, which was just in her first quarter, was 
then brought into the field, and the mild and gentle Queen 
of Night resolved herself, beneath the searching gaze of 
this magic tube, into an assemblage of mountains, and 
valleys, broken, sterile, wild, and desolate, as any that 
our less poetic earth can show. By this time the air was 
slightly hazy, and a light fleecy cloud hung in the neigh- 
borhood of the moon, and soon threw a streamer of its 
fringed skirt over her face, slightly obscuring the view 
on one limb, but leaving the other unclouded. 

" When I consider the Heavens, the work of Thy 
fingers, the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained, 
what is man that Thou art mindful of him r* Oh, what 
a radiant halo of glory surrounds the mind of the ardent 
devotee to Astronomy ! Always enthusiastic in the pur- 
suit of his favorite science, he delights to gaze entranced 
in wonder and in awe, upon the mystic myriads of 
Heaven, flashing torth their exhaustless fires and bathed in 
the illimitable depths of ether, while his bosom swells with 
feelings which are ever striving to refine themselves into 
thoughts, and his fancy goes roaming back, away through 
the long vista of ages, to the primitive days of society, 
and accompanies Isaac when he goes out in the fields at 
the eventide to meditate, while the Pleiades shed their 
" sweet influences" around the holy Patriarch, even the 
lost one adding its tiny lustre ; or lays down with Jacob 
on his way to Padan-Aram, when he takes a stone for a 
pillow, and sees in the visions of night that glorious ladder 
ascending from earth to Heaven, and resting upon the 
shoulders of Orion, flaming then as now, in radiant glory, 
on the coronal of Heaven ; or, watching with those who 
tended their flocks by night, looks upward, attracted by 
the radiance of the advancing Messengers who come to 
announce the glad tidings of life and salvation to a fallen 
world, and sees the twinkling sentinels of the sky, look- 
ing down from their unchanging watch towers, the same 
that were assigned them at the first dawn of the creation, 



THE DARGLE. 157 

and renewing the hymn which then they sang, when all 
the Sons of the Morning shouted for joy, — the only ob- 
jects which the eye of man beholds that never, never 
change. 




CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE DARGLE — MEETING OF THE WATERS — THE VALE OF 
AVOCA — ROAD FROM RATHDRUM — CITY OF DUBLIN — 
BOTANIC GARDENS — GLASSNEVIN CEMETERY — IRISH 

BULLS ADIEU TO IRELAND — BRITTANNIA TUBULAR 

BRIDGE — BANGOR — RAIL ROAD ON THE NORTHERN COAST 
OF WALES. 

"Sweet Vale of Avoca, how calm could I rest 
In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best; 
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, 
And our hearts like thy waters be mingled in peace."— Moore. 

lOUNTY Wicklow, next to the lakes of Killarny, 
is the great resort of Irish tourists in quest of 
scenery. A few miles from Bray is a romantic 
mountain dell called the Dargle, through which flows a 
noisy foaming stream, prying into every nook and cranny, 
and often becoming entangled in difficulties, from which, 
like other busy-bodies, it has no little trouble to get itself 
clear again. Entering a gate at the roadside, the traveler 
pursues a gravel walk, leading along the brow of a steep 
hill bordering the stream. A side path leads down to 
the water's edge, where a mass of rocks obstructs the 
course of the stream, and the waters are dashed into foam 
as they plunge from side to side, as each rock meets and 
resists their course, till the stream is whitened as if a 
mass of snow or hoar-frost were pouring down from an 
exhaustless fountain j while a little higher up the rivulet 
comes dashing through a narrow rocky defile with a very 
steep descent, and the mingled foam and spray, together 
with the brilliant play of colors which the rushing waters 
assume, give the scene a charming character of life and 
animation, in harmony with the mountain slopes on either 



158 MEETING OF THE WATERS, 

side, where evergreens mingle their dark and sombre 
foliage with the rich vernal hues of the oak, and the del- 
icate tints of the maple and the willow. 

Ascending again to the main road, we soon find another 
path leading down to the bottom of the valley, where the 
Burnt Rock, seamed with many deeply colored strata, rises 
abruptly from the edge of the water, and overhangs the 
stream to meet a rock on the opposite bank, which however 
recedes from the contact, and the waters come dashing and 
foaming through the gorge as they round the sudden 
curve. It is truly a wild and picturesque view. Some 
distance further up the stream is the Lover's Leap, a 
rounded promontory of naked rock, jutting out from the 
general slope of the hill, and overhanging the grassy 
meadow below. A little above this again the hills fall 
back from the water, and open up a delightful view of the 
valley above the Dargle. 

But one of the choicest gems of natural scenery in 
Ireland is the Meeting of the Waters in the sweet Vale 
of Avoca, over whose transcendent beauty Moore has 
thrown such a halo of beauty, such a spell of enchant- 
ment, in one of his sweetest melodies. The Avoca is 
formed by the confluence of two small mountain streams, 
the Arklow and the Avon, that come murmuring down 
their sandy beds, bordered with grassy banks that rise 
into lofty hills crowned with forests, and flanked by culti- 
vated fields. Just above the first Meeting of the Waters 
an ancient stone bridge is thrown across the stream, which 
a little below, falls in a beautiful ripple over a bed of rocks 
that lines the bottom, below which it receives its sister 
stream in a loving embrace. They meet in perfect tran- 
quility ', each clear and sparkling, and flow on through a 
vale of surpassing beauty to the second Meeting of the 
Waters, where the Avoca takes in the Derry Water, which 
comes hurrying down another mountain valley ; and the 
sister streams, thus mingled in one, go murmuring on in 
their brightness" and joy to their home in the boundless 
sea. 

From this point is a delightiful view. The varied valley 
of the upper Avoca, recedes in the distance with a wind- 



ROAD TO THE VALE OF AVOCA. 159 

ing serpentine course; the Derry "Water conies sweeping 
down a narrow defile of exquisite beauty, and the united 
streams bear away almost straight to the town of Hartley, 
whose church is seen on the hillside which closes the view, 
and sends the river winding around its base to seek an 
outlet from the beautiful vale. 

The road from Rathdrum to the Vale of Avoca, is the 
most completely beautiful I ever traveled ; a wide open 
turnpike, smooth almost as a parlor floor and solid as stone 
itself, bordered by grassy banks, on which are thick-set 
hedges : now of thorns, forming a close network which 
even a bird could not penetrate; and now of furze, whose 
brilliant yellow bloom makes it a continuous wall of gold ; 
while much of the distance it is bordered with noble old 
oaks, whose wide-spreading branches intermingle over the 
middle of the road, and form one unbroken arbor stretch- 
ing away for miles; and the dense shade thrown down by 
the newly opened foliage, checkered with innumerable 
patches of sunlight struggling through the branches and 
dancing on the solid floor, form a cool and delicious retreat, 
gratefully refreshing, where the weary traveler would 
gladly repose from the toils of his journey, and reluct- 
antly yields to the stern necessity that hurries him through 
these delightful bowers. 

The city of Dublin is rich in monuments of literary and 
scientific worth. In the centre of Sackville street, the great 
leading thoroughfare of the city, is a proud monument to 
Nelson, a lofty pillar crowned with a colossal statue. The 
old Parliament House is a magnificent structure. The 
House of Commons has been greatly changed, and is now 
used as a banking house. The House of Lords remains 
just as the nobility left it in 1800, at which time the Irish 
Parliament was incorporated with that of England, and 
transferred to London ; the walls are covered with tapes- 
try, the ceiling is. adorned with elegant devices ; a marble 
statue occupies the place where the woolsack stood, and 
the room is a monument of the lost independence of this 
subject land. 

The Botanic Gardens contain a rich collection of plants. 
The glass houses for the tropical plants are models of 



160 GLASSNEVIN CEMETERY, 

beauty and elegance. The gardens are delightful ; gravel 
paths wind here and there over the lovely grass turf, 
among beds of flowers and arbors of delicious vines, and 
trees of every species that can bear the Hibernian 
seasons adorn the extensive grounds, scattered irregularly 
or disposed in beautiful groups, over which the freshness 
of early spring breathes a delicious fragrance. The Zoo- 
logical Gardens in Phoenix Park, are richly worth a visit. 
The hawthorn trees which cover a portion of this beauti- 
ful pleasure-ground, are singularly gnarled and twisted, 
and present a curious appearance. 

In Glassnevin Cemetery, the chief Catholic burying 
ground of the city, is a monument to Daniel O'Connell, a 
circular tower, smooth and plain, in imitation of the Dru- 
idical round towers of Ireland. It stands on a large 
artificial mound, and is surrounded by a wall and moat. 
At present the great orator lies in a vault in another part 
of the grounds. A flight of steps leads down to the iron 
grating, in which his coflin is seen covered with scarlet 
velvet, and decked with gilded mountings, but all mouldy 
and tarnished with the death-damps of the vault. Grat- 
tan's tomb is also here, a double scroll of marble resting 
on a large sarcophagus. These were men whom Ireland 
delighted to honor. 

It has been remarked that the Irish ought to be the 
most polished people in the world, for they receive more 
rubs than any other ; and it may perhaps be conceded 
that the Irish bulls exert a greater influence in civilized 
society, than their more solemn relatives which are turned 
out to roam over the world from the pastures of the Papal 
See. Whilst mingling among the people of Green Erin, 
I caught one specimen of the genuine critter which is 
worth preserving. Two fellows were talking of the size 
of the river Shannon ; one remarked, with surprize, that 
it was not so wide at a certain town as at another higher 
up. Oh yes, says his comrade, it's narrower there on 
account of the bridge. 

But adieu to beautiful Ireland. The poetry that is 
wont to linger around her, is not dispelled by a nearer 
acquaintance, but deepens in lustre and brightens in 



ADIEU TO IRELAND. 161 

beauty by treacling her world-famed Causeway ; by ming- 
ling among the thronging crowds that people her ancient 
capital ; and loitering in her delightful dells, where the 
mountain brook hurries with headlong haste through the 
rocky defiles of the Dargle, or the limpid floods of the 
sister streams go singing along by the flowery banks, and 
dancing over the sparkling sands of the lovely Vale of 
Avoca. 

I returned to England on a lovely afternoon, landing at 
Holyhead, where the coast, which is a high bleak promontory 
rocky and barren, is almost perpendicular : scarred, seamed 
and rent, as if an earthquake had disturbed its repose ; 
and the mighty chalk- beds of England whiten its frown- 
ing brows. The sea was smooth as a garden lake, light 
clouds sported on a gentle breeze, and the voyage was 
most delightful. ■ 

Across the island of Anglesea the road crosses a sterile 
tract for several miles, when the country becomes better 
in appearance, green and fertile fields stretching away 
over a long succession of rolling hills, forming landscapes 
of great beauty. After about an hour's run, the great 
Brittannia Tubular Bridge was seen just in advance of 
us, floating away in all its giant proportions through the 
vacant air, from shore to shore of the Menai Strait, and 
connecting the island of Anglesea and the coast of Wales. 
In another moment we were thundering through this iron 
tunnel enveloped in midnight darkness. This great bridge 
is one thousand eight hundred and forty-one feet in 
length, and one hundred feet above high water.* In the 
centre of the strait is an enormous rock called the Brit- 
tannia rock, on which the central tower is built, and from 
which the bridge derives its name. It is entirely con- 
structed of plates of wrought iron, and consists of two 
tubes, one for each track, entirely separate, with an iron 
roof covering both. 

From the Caernarvon end of the bridge, Mount Snowden 

* The tubes are each 14 feet 8 inches wide, 30 feet high in 
the middle, and 23 at the ends. The two centre spans are 460 
feet clear, and the total length of the iron tubes is 1513 feet. 

u* 



162 THE STEAM IIORSE ON THE SEA SHORE. 

and the Pass of Llanberris are visible, distant sixteen 
miles. Oh, how I wished to visit them ; but I am com- 
pelled to forego the pleasures of this grand and sublime 
mountain journey. I am not fitted for a mountaineer, 
and must limit my wanderings to the tamer scenes of 
nature and the busy haunts of men. It is no easy matter 
to tear myself away from the vicinity of these great at- 
tractions, but circumstances are unyielding and submission 
is my lot. 

The town of Ba*ngor, two miles from the bridge, is 
celebrated for the wondrous beauty of its location. It 
stands in a rolling valley at the base of a line of cliffs, 
beyond which, from the high grounds of upper Bangor, 
a fine view is obtained of the rugged summits and tower- 
ing mountain peaks, that stud the northern coast of Wales. 

From Bangor to the Brittannia Bridge, the road winds 
along the valley of the strait at some distance from the 
water's edge, affording most delightful views of the oppo- 
site shore, with its grassy fields and shady woods ; its 
blooming orchards and tufts of shrubbery; its splendid 
palaces and delightful parks, that checker the landscape 
and clothe it with the most enchanting beauty. 

Along the northern coast of Wales the rail road follows 
the seashore. In many places it required immense labor 
to level the solid rock, to bridge its yawning chasms, and 
tunnel its projecting headlands. The route is beautiful. 
The steam-horse goes picking his way along the shore, 
nowtrembling on the edge of a precipice, he almost over- 
hangs the wave j now winding around a rocky ledge, he 
thunders along his iron pathway, and anon he pursues his 
impetuous flight along the open valley, while his piercing 
shriek resounds through the mountain passes, plays a 
treble note to the melody of gray old Ocean's surge, and 
dies away mid the rocky heights of the mighty Penman- 
maur. 



SCOTLAND. 163 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

SCOTLAND — HER GREAT MEN — EDINBURGH — OLD AND NEW 

TOWN HOLYROOD PALACE — QUEEN MARY'S APARTMENTS 

CROWN AND REGALIA OF SCOTLAND GRAVE OF HUGH 

MILLER — TRIBUTE TO HIS MEMORY — ASCENT OF AR- 
THUR'S SEAT — YIEW FROM SUMMIT — YIEW FROM NEL- 
SON'S MONUMENT FOOTSTEPS OF GENIUS. 

* Edina ! Scotia's darling seat, 
All hail thy Palaces and Towers I "—Burns. 

^8SK?-F a H the lands of western Europe, few claim a 
(^fv§6 higher place in the mind of the tourist than Scot- 
(sffila land. I felt my heart bound and the blood leap 
through my veins with a surging tide, as I stepped on the 
land which had given birth to a Wallace and a Scott, a 
Douglass and a Burns, a Knox and a Miller ; that land 
which had attained so high a place in the world of song 
and story, whose deeds of daring by her ancient and her 
modern heroes have rarely been excelled, and whose liter- 
ature has so few superiors. 

Where a Dugald Stewart, a Macaulay, a Nichol or a Wil- 
son, pause in the race of knowledge, human nature will do 
well to hesitate j where a Pollok and a Burns check their 
poetic fancies, it is folly to attempt to soar beyond j where 
a Blair sets bounds to his religious exhortations, let unin- 
spired humanity forbear to trespass on the realms above ; 
when a Bobertson and a Rume have told the story of a 
nation's deeds ; when a Miller has depicted the sublime 
truths of science, and translated the wondrous stony vol- 
umes of geology, with a warmth of fancy, a fertility of 
thought, and a burning glow of diction which the world 
has not exceeded ; when a Scott has exhausted his invent- 
ive faculties, and sported with the graces of delightful 
fiction; let others read, and reverently admire, but be 
certain that the inspiration of superior genius prompts 
them, ere they venture on the treacherous realms where 
these great spirits stayed their sublime and adventurous 
flights. 



164 SITE OF EDINBURGH. 

Of all the British towns the second place is undoubt- 
edly due to the proud Capital of the North. Edinburgh 
is a city of magnificent contrasts. The plot of the town 
presents some singular natural features. A high narrow 
ridge in the centre of the town, rises gradually from the 
east to a height of over four hundred feet, and abruptly 
terminates in a perpendicular ledge of rocks. On this 
giddy height stands the far-famed Castle, looking down in 
frowning grandeur on the level grounds below, over which 
the town spreads far away till it mounts the first rise of 
the Pentland Hills. The ascent on High street, which 
follows the crest of this ridge, is very gentle and easy. 

Along the north base of Castle Hill is a narrow defile, 
beyond which, at some distance to the east, this singular 
phenomenon is repeated on a somewhat smaller scale ; — 
Calton Hill rising gradually in the same manner, and ter- 
minating in an abrupt rocky ledge. This hill is crowned 
with several monuments — to Nelson, to Burns, Dugald 
Stuart, and Professor Playfair. Here is also an unfin- 
ished national monument to those who fell at Waterloo, 
intended to be a model of the Parthenon. Twelve noble 
columns are erected, forming one side and one end of the 
building, and surmounted by a rich entablature. There 
it stands, like a magnificent ruin. 

At the lower end of High street, at the sloping base of 
Castle Hill, stands Holyrood Palace, so famous in the 
eventful history of Scotland ; and just south of this the 
strange features of Castle Hill are again twice repeated 
on a greatly expanded scale. A- hill towering upward 
rather abruptly from the east, to a height of over eight 
hundred feet, forms the famous Arthur's Seat, and then 
drops suddenly off to the west with a very steep declivity. 
The summit of this hill, seen from some parts of the city, 
presents the exact outline of a lion crouching, and seem- 
ingly guarding the Palace, which lies almost under his 
paws. 

From the western base of Arthur's Seat, a gentle grassy 
slope again ascends to the east, over five hundred feet in 
height, and terminates in a rocky terrace absolutely per- 
pendicular, from the base of which a very steep slope of 



NEW AND OLD TOWN. 165 

debris falls away to the plain. Such are the chief features 
of the site of Edinburgh. 

But the contrasts of Edinburgh are not confined to the 
ground on which it stands. It is divided into the Old and 
New towns. The Old town occupies the southern side of 
Castle Hill, and is an intricate labyrinth of narrow, 
crooked streets, between antiquated houses of six and 
eight stories, which Time seems to have forgotten in his 
rapid career, whose stone walls have often lost every trace 
of an artificial face, having mouldered and crumbled away 
till the original surface is gone; with projecting upper 
stories overhanging the side-walks, and two, three, or four 
separate quaint looking gables, rising from the top of the 
walls. These narrow highways of the olden time, seem 
not unlike a ravine torn through the living rock. 

The New town is of a totally different character. The 
buildiDgs are modern, and of the most elegant architec- 
ture. Several streets consist entirely of palatial residences, 
which yield in no respect to those of London. An ex- 
tensive terrace of uniform architecture, with canopied 
doorways, and windows projecting in arches, with heavy 
classic cornice and miniature flower beds in front, is 
almost a peculiar feature of this Queen city of the North. 
Indeed in some respects the great metropolis must yield 
the palm to Edina. Here, it is true, is no St. Paul's ; no 
Westminster Abbey ; no Crystal Palace ; no British Mu- 
seum j but on the other hand, London has no Castle Hill ; 
no Princes street ; no Arthur's Seat ; no Calton Terrace.* 
The smoke and exhalations of the city hang over it in a 
cloud more or less dense, whence it has received the 
familiar name among the people of Auld Kickey ; which, 
being interpreted, is Old Smoky. 

The first point of attraction is fHolyrood Palace, so 
intimately connected with the history of the great, the 
unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots. It is a very hand- 
some building, on a small plain at the base of Arthur's 
Seat. A beautiful fountain stands in front of the palace 

* Regent's Quadrant is a comparative range of shops, 
f Holy Cross. 



166 HOLYROOD PALACE. 

of highly ornamental design, around which, a series of 
lion's heads spout the water into the basin. The palace 
is closed to the public, except the picture gallery, Lord 
Darnley's rooms, Queen Mary's apartments, and the ruined 
chapel and abbey. Upon entering the court, we turn to 
the left and ascend a flight of stone steps which leads to 
the picture gallery, a long room, plain and old fashioned, 
hung with a series of portraits of the Kings of Scotland, 
historic or fabulous, from the misty times of Fergus I., B. 
C. 323, down to the reign of James VI. 

We now enter Lord Darnley's rooms, a series of apart- 
ments of no great size or splendor, indeed decidedly 
shabby. The ceilings are of panneled oak with armorial 
devices, and the walls of crumbling plaster. We now 
ascend another flight of stairs, circular and elegant, to 
Queen Mary's apartments, one of the most interesting 
series of rooms in Europe, and truly the hand of innova- 
tion has respected their solemn interest. They do not 
appear to have been retouched or remodeled for many a long 
century. In one room stands her bed, the curtains of 
which, — of damasked silk, — are moth-eaten and hanging 
in shreds, and the bed itself is in the same condition. 

In her supping room, which is only about eight feet 
square, and the walls of which are completely ruinous, — 
the plaster crumbling and falling away, and the ceiling 
and floor decaying, — was enacted that terrible tragedy of 
the murder of Rizzio, which figures so largely in her 
history. He was stabbed while clinging to Mary's dress, 
pleading her protection, which she would gladly have 
given him had she been able ; and was then dragged to 
the head of the stairway where he expired, having re- 
ceived fifty-six wounds. Just at the head of the stairs 
is a stain of some kind, quite common in old lumber, 
which is soberly declared to be the stain left by the blood 
of the infamous sufferer. And this in the nineteenth 
century ! And this in enlightened Scotland ! Well may 
scepticism laugh. 

The crown and regalia of Scotland are kept in a small 
room in the Castle arched with stone, without a window, 
and lighted by four lamps. These insignia of Scottish 



REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. 167 

royalty were long concealed in the very room where they 
are now exhibited, in an old chest which yet stands by 
them. They were long thought to be lost, the secret be- 
ing confined to Sir William Wallace and a few of his 
faithful friends. Here is the crown supposed to have 
been worn in a simpler form by Robert Bruce. It con- 
sists of a crimson-purple velvet cap surrounded by a rim 
of gold richly set with gems. The upper edge of this 
rim is bordered with leaves and fleur-de-lis. Four arched 
segments rise from the sides and meet at the top where 
they support a cross and gem. Here is also the scepter 
of Scotland, — a six-sided rod of gold, ending in a taper 
ornamental wand. Two ferrules encircle it, and a richly 
engraved knob forms the base. The sword of state with 
a highly ornamented scabbard^ presented to James IV. 
by Pope Julius II.; the Lord Bishop's rod of office, the 
finger rings which the Scottish Sovereigns wore when 
crowned; two brooches; badges of different orders of 
knighthood ; and a chain of gold ; constitute the rich and 
gorgeous regalia of Scotland. The whole rests on a white 
marble table enclosed in a strong iron railing — the crown 
on a cushion of crimson velvet in the centre, supported 
by a pedestal of white marble. 

On a lovely Sabbath afternoon I visited Grange Ceme- 
tery, to indulge a solemn thought at the grave of Hugh 
Miller. This great man stands in the very foremost rank of 
writers. His language is unsurpassed in sweetness, in 
strength, and every attribute that denotes a leader in the 
literary world. He is too modern, too near our own times, 
to permit us to see him in all his greatness. Such master 
spirits, like the great works of the architect, require a 
certain distance to enable us to see the just proportions 
and perfect harmony of the entire structure. We are 
dazzled by the glare of ornament, the perfection of finish, 
we are bewildered by the variety of dependencies which 
unite to form one harmonious whole ; — in like manner are 
we baffled in attempting to form a proper estimate of the 
newly dead, by the influence of personal affection, and the 
very excusable pride we must all feel at being identified 
with an age which was honored with so great a mind. 



168 HUGH miller's grave. 

He lies in the north west corner of the cemetery, in a 
vault faced with plain sandstone and surmounted with a 
pediment. A small tablet bears this simple incription : 

Hugh Miller. 
Died 24th December, 1856, aged 54 years. 

A stout iron railing, supported by stone pedestals, encloses 
a small space in front, in which the cowslip, white clover, 
and daisy are sprinkled over the rich green sward, in the 
midst of which a small bed blooms with the choicest 
flowers, a fit emblem of the gentle and lovely spirit which 
scattered so profusely the flowers of eloquence, and the 
glorious creations of his poetic mind among thousands of 
admiring readers. 

Dark clouds overshadowed the close of his useful life. 
His mind, overcome by the incessant toil of study, gave 
way before the wild and fantastic creations of its own dis- 
ordered powers ; visions of more than mortal horror 
flashed through his ever active brain; and terrors, of 
which inferior natures can form no conception, arose be- 
fore the mental vision of Scotland's gifted man. Over- 
come by the fearful phantasms of his own creation, he 
gave way to despair, and in a moment of frenzy termina- 
ted that life by violence, which had been so bright an 
example of mildness and peace and joy; of cheerful hap- 
piness and contented toil. Yet sleep in peace, thou great 
and mighty spirit. Thy works remain a monument of 
glory such as will never grace Victoria's tomb. The 
Testimony of the Rocks, translated by thy able pen, will 
speak to future ages, not only of the early records of our 
globe, but also of the master genius who interpreted their 
mystic symbols. How infinitely superior is a crown like 
thine to all the glittering diadems of earth ! 

From the cemetery I climbed to the summit of Arthur's 
Seat, where a most noble prospect meets the eye. The 
city lays at your feet, as it were clustering to a point be- 
neath you. The Frith of Forth glitters with many a 
winding curve tar away in the interior, beyond which the 
whole of Fifeshire forms but the foreground as it were of 



VIEWS IN EDINBURGH. 169 

the picture, which sweeps to the north and west till lost 
amid the mountain ranges and gloomy defiles of the High- 
lands; where the hoary summit of Ben Lomond towers 
above its fellows, like a giant pyramid stretching up into 
the ethereal blue. Ben Ledi is a little to the west, and 
a broken range of rugged highlands mottles the view to 
the right, where the prospect is bounded by the Grampi- 
ans, and lost in the misty clouds that hover o'er the 
German ocean. On the other hand, the range of the 
Pentland Hills forms a framework, as it were, for the 
city, beyond which a rugged landscape falls away to the 
south to the distant range of the Cheviot Hills, which 
rises in the background of the view, and terminates this 
magnificent perspective. 

The Water of Leith flows through a deep ravine on the 
eastern borders of the city, over which a most beautiful 
stone bridge is thrown at a great height from the water. 
From this bridge the view is exceedingly fine ; the frith, 
the city, the coast of Fife, and the surrounding scenery 
combine to form a delightful prospect. But in Edinburgh 
where shall we go to avoid a scene of grandeur and 
of beauty ? From the top of Nelson's Monument on 
Calton Hill, is a view which is pronounced equal to the 
bay of Naples. The scene is the same on a much smaller 
scale as that from Arthur's Seat, except that the noble 
Frith, a lovely sheet of water with a tortuous winding 
outline, is much better seen from this point of view, and 
spreads itself out like a liquid mirror ; the leading feature 
of the scene, which, combined with the suburbs of the 
city, and the tufts of woodland and artificial groves scat- 
tered here and there amid the hills and valleys, constitute 
a landscape over which the Spirit of Beauty has thrown 
her fairest mantle. 

In the Calton burying-ground repose the remains of 
that great man, that deluded sceptic, that powerful writer, 
David Hume. His monument is a plain cylindrical stone 
tower, encircled with a band of delicate carving. An 
iron grate in the wall gives a view of the cold, empty, 
blank interior. In Grey Friar's Cemetery, Robertson, the 
15 



170 MELROSE ABBEY. 

historian, Hugh Blair, the preacher, and Allan Ramsay, 
the poet, are buried. 

The residence of Allan "Ramsay is preserved with much 
care, and the gardens are kept in neat order, but have 
been entirely remodeled, and are not thrown open to the 
public. Yet it is a spot to which the heart of the patri- 
otic Scotchman turns with pride, as one of the rallying 
points for the common sentiment of his countrymen. 
The footsteps of Genius illustrate the humble haunts where 
it dwells, and Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd holds a place 
with the lovers of Scotch literature, which will long hal- 
low the scenes connected with its gifted author. 

But the fairest visions must fade away, and we cannot 
linger in the pleasant city. I crossed the Frith to the 
coast of Fifeshire, and took my last view of Edina as our 
gallant bark swept across the water; and I thought, as it 
gradually vanished away in the mists of the morning, 
that this beautiful city, which has so long lingered as a 
fairy creation in the mind, would henceforth be a not less 
pleasing, though a more definite object, for the fancy to 
clothe with its glowing hues. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

MELROSE — ITS ABBEY — EAWTHORNDEN — ROSLIN CHURCH — 
AYRSHIRE — THE LAND OF BURNS — STIRLING CASTLE — 
BATTLE-GROUND OF BANNOCKBUBN — THE OLD MAN'S EN- 
THUSIASM. 

"Honor the Scotch brigade, 
Honor the charge they made, 
While the world wondered." — Tennyson, adapted. 

Scots wha hae* wi' Wallace bled ! " — Burns. 

*)HE town of Melrose stands in a beautiful valley 
on the Tweed, a " fair river," but not very 
"broad and deep." Here is a ruined Abbey, 
rendered famous by being the scene of Scott's Lay of 
the Last Minstrel. It is a glorious ruin, and well worthy 
of its high reputation. Much of the elegant carving of 




HAWTHORNDEN. 171 

he capitals and other ornamental portions still reniiias as 
fresh and perfect as if just from the artist's hands, the 
finest lines and most delicate leaves and tendrils being 
entirely uninjured in the lapse of many centuries. Under 
one of the elegant windows the heart of Robert Bruce 
lies buried. In one of the aisles is the grave of Michael 
Scott, the bard who sang the last lay, which Sir Walter 
has so beautifully paraphrased, and the cloisters are still 
shown by the guides — merely an enclosure in one of the 
angles of the outer wall. 

From several points in the burying-ground the view is 
very fine, and the gray old Abbey looms up to the vision, 
as a Spirit of the past, frowning on the innovations which 
time and progress have made upon the surrounding 
scenes, its fragment of a tower rising far above the moul- 
dering walls and overlooking the beautiful valley of the 
Tweed, while the shriek of the steam horse, as he speeds 
on his wild career almost under the shadows of the 
Abbey, rings and reverberates through the lonely aisles 
and deserted halls. What a change has come o'er the 
spirit of the scene since these hoary walls were reared, 
and the ghostly monks chanted their doleful music over 
this lovely vale ! 

Hawthornden is a beautiful mountain defile, a few 
miles from Edinburgh, through which flows the river Esk, 
now foaming through a rocky chasm, now rippling gently 
over a sandy bed, and now sleeping in dark and silent 
pools beneath the thick shade of a cluster of mountain 
shrubs, till ^,t a sudden bend of the river, the perpendic- 
ular cliff is crowned with a stately mansion on the very 
brink of the precipice, with turrets rising from the 
corners, and an air of antique neatness and splendor 
pervading the entire building. This was the dwelling of 
Drummond, a great historian and poet, and a friend of 
Ben Jonson and Shakspeare. Tradition sayeth, if in- 
deed it be not history, that Ben Jonson traveled on foot 
from London to this place, to spend a social time with his 
brother poet, and a jolly visit it was. 

Near the upper end of Hawthornden stands the little 
tile-covered village of Roslin, famous for its gorgeou3 



172 THE LAND OP A GLASS AND A SANG. 

miniature church,* but little larger than a common dwell- 
ing house, and yet finished with a profusion of workmanship, 
a splendor of ornament, and a perfection of design, which 
throw many famous cathedrals far away in the back- 
ground. The ruins of an old castle, and ruins indeed they 
are, only a few fragments of the walls remaining, stand on 
a steep rocky bluff with precipitous sides, projecting like 
a promontory into a deep bend of the river Esk, and 
overlooking a lovely vale bordered with steep romantic 
hills, through which the stream goes dancing in a series 
of successive rapids. 

I made a rapid tour through the heart of Ayrshire, 
the birth place and home of Scotia's peasant Bard. Who 
would not wish to visit the bonnie Doon, and to ramble en- 
tranced in enthusiastic reverie amid the scenes illustrated 
by his plebian muse ? And this is the land of Burns ! 
the land of a glass and a sang ! where he toiled with life's 
stern realities, where he held the plow, and wielded the 
unpoetic axe ; yet enraptured with more glowing visions 
floating through his burning fancy than ever visited 
his maniac sovereign, or flashed across the vapid mind of 
of that haughty lordling whom he so thoroughly scorned 
when forced to the conclusion that " Man was made to 
mourn." Truly this is poetic ground. To my mind, the 
Doon and the Ayr are second only in the list of classic 
streams, to the Scamander and Illysus, the Tiber and the 
Avon. 

The town of Stirling is one of the most interesting 
localities of Scotland. Its site is somewhat* similar to 
that of Edinburgh. The castle stands on just such a 
rocky prominence, rising gradually from a level in a 
sharp ridge or spine and terminating in a perpendicular 
bluff of solid rock, commanding the valley of the Leith, 
which flows at its base. From the top of the walls you 
look down a fearful depth, to a mass of broken rocks that 
form a shelving base to the cliff. 

From the parapets of the castle magnificent views are 
obtained, reaching away to Ben Lomond and mountains 

* Only sixty-eight feet long. 



STIRLING CASTLE. lid 

beyond on the one hand, and to Arthur's Seat and the 
Pentland hills on the other ; while the wide expanse of 
the valley of the Forth, dotted with farm houses and 
villages, occupies the intervening space. The exterior 
of the castle is of singular character : flying buttresses 
support the walls, from the top of which rise pinnacles 
or statues, while horrid grotesque figures, with visages 
distorted into every conceivable deformity, hydras, grif- 
fins, and gorgons of frightful countenances, glare down 
upon you from the cornices, from the offsets of the but- 
tresses, from the window caps and the keystones of the 
numerous arches, while others start out from the solid 
walls, or lurk in some obscure corner, giving a strange 
and wierd complexion to this stronghold of a nation's 
liberties. The building is magnificent within itself; 
when viewed through the gorgeous-tinted halo with 
which the authoress of the Scottish Chiefs has invested 
it, it becomes sublime. 

It was with feelings of no ordinary character, that I 
visited the battle-ground of Bannockburn, two miles from 
Stirling. Here you will find a people proud of their 
nationality. The Scotch in this vicinity can scarcely 
speak of that day, or survey that glorious field even yet, 
without stretching themselves up to their fullest propor- 
tions, and showing, perhaps unconsciously to themselves, 
that innate pride and prestige of renown, which Bruce 
and his gallant army bequeathed as a perpetual legacy to 
the whole body of the Scottish clans, and which, even to 
this day, is cherished by their grateful posterity as one 
of the brightest gems in the rich casket of their nation's 
jewels. 

Whilst standing all alone by the stone where Bruce 
planted his flagstaff, on a gentle eminence overlooking 
the battle-field, vainly endeavoring to fix the location of 
the more prominent features of that eventful day, a gen- 
teel Scotchman, who was passing into the decline of life, 
came leisurely sauntering along the road and stopped to 
take a view of the interesting scene. I appro.iched, and 
respectfully asked him to point out the position of the 
15* 



174 BATTLE-GROUND OF BANNOCKBURN. 

armies, and the scenes of the chief events of Scotland's 
proudest day. 

Certainly, said he, with pleasure will I do it. This 
flat valley in front of you, through which flows the little 
stream, or as the Scots call it, the burn of Bannock, was 
at that early day a morass, and the Bruce who had 
planted his banner on this stone, in which you still see 
the hole that was drilled for the purpose, had dug nume- 
rous pits along the banks of the stream, and planted 
pikes in the bottom to arrest the charge of the English 
cavalry. As he mentioned the Bruce, I noticed a very 
perceptible elevation of his tone. 

Here was Bruce's station, said he, and his small but 
undaunted army of thirty thousand men, lay on this hill- 
side and on the grounds back of us, while on yonder hill 
to the right and slightly in the rear, he had placed a 
large company of wagoners and sumpter boys, provided 
with banners to give them the appearance of a large 
army, and his left wing guarded the open valley, which 
you see yonder leading down to the castle of Stirling, 
which was then in possession of the English, under the 
command of Philip de Mowbray ; while the English 
King, with his one hundred and fifty thousand men, 
occupied the low ground and the gentle elevation beyond 
the stream. 

On the evening previous to the battle, when the En- 
glish approached, Bruce led out his cavalry, and a sharp 
conflict ensued, but the enemy were allured among the 
turf-covered pits prepared for their reception, and fell 
into confusion, whilst the Scots, who knew the ground, 
charged upon them in their disorder, and gained a deci- 
ded advantage. Bruce engaged in single combat with 
Henry de Bohun, and with one stroke of his battle axe 
cleft his head in twain. He fell at the foot of that hill 
where you see a clump of trees, just beyond the burn. 

The ensuing night was short at that season of the year, 
and in this northern clime, and when the day again broke, 
Edward led his forces to the attack, and the Earl of 
Gloucester, his nephew, who commanded the left wing of 
his cavalry, dashing on with indiscreet ardor, became 



THE OLD MAN'S ENTHUSIASM. 175 

again entangled among the covered pits, whilst Sir James 
Douglass, who commanded the Scottish cavalry, gave 
them no leisure to rally, but gallantly pressed the advan- 
tage, and they fled over the rising grounds to the right 
beyond the stream. While the English were startled by 
this unfavorable beginning of the action, the body of Scots- 
men who were planted on these hills, made their appear- 
ance with banners flying, and the English mistaking 
them for another powerful army, were seized with a panic 
and began to give ground. 

Edward, as a last resource, detached a powerful com- 
pany to force the passage to the castle, which was guarded 
by a handful of patriots. The encounter was severe, the 
valley yonder to the left was covered with the slain, and 
the Bruce, alarmed for the consequences, sent a force to 
support them, but finding, when they were not more than 
half way to the scene of conflict, that the English were 
giving ground, he countermanded the order, saying that 
as the guards had so gallantly defended the pass, they 
should have the entire honor of the victory. Edward's 
forces fell back in confusion and dismay, and the whole 
body of his army, pafoic stricken and discouraged, threw 
down their aims and fled. 

As the old man thus proceeded in his narration, his en- 
thusiasm kindled with the theme, his stooping figure 
became erect, his dull eye flashed with patriotic fire, and 
his whole demeanor bespoke a conscious pride of Cale- 
donia's prowess, and her deeds of daring and of valor. 
Enthusiasm is contagious, and I could scarce repress an 
involuntary shout of triumph as he concluded with the 
remark, " From that day to this, the English have hated 
a Scotchman, but dared not show us any disrespect. 



170 A DAY OF PLEASURE. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

A DAY OP PLEASURE — THE MISTS OP LOCH UOMOND — ROUGH HIGH- 
LAND SCENERY SUNLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS APPROACH 

TO LOCH KATRINE — BEN VENUE IN HIS GLORY — ELYSiAN 
LANDSCAPE — ELLEN'S ISLE — A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 

" One burnished sheet of living gold, 
Loch Katrine lay beneath us rolled."— Scott. 

" There is a little lawny islet, 
By anemone and violet 

Like mosaic naven : 
And its roof is flowers and leaves, 
Which the Summer's breath enweaves, 

Each a gem engraven ; 
Girt by many an azure wave, 
With which the clouds and mountains pave 

A lake's blue chasm." — Shelley. 

"And oh, if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, — it is this." — Moore. 

(HIS day has been a day of pleasure. I have made 
the tour of Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine ; 
have witnessed the scenery of the mountain lakes 
in its utmost perfection ) landscapes of whose transcend- 
ent beauty I had no conception ; Edens in the midst of a 
wilderness of mountains ; islets of bliss springing up from 
the bosom of the crystal deeps ; and a paradise embosomed 
in that sweet enchanted dell, where Loch Katrine sleeps 
in the shade of Ben Venue ; where the dome-like summit 
of Ben A'an towers up in solemn grandeur, and the wild 
romantic Trosachs form a coronet of glory for the brightest 
jewel in this girdle of silver lakes that gem the Scottish 
Highlands. 

The town of Balloch stands on the shore of Loch Lo- 
mond, at the point where it finds an outlet in the Waters 
of Leven; a name said to have been derived from the 
melancholy fact of eleven brothers and sisters having 
been drowned in it whilst returning from their mother's 
funeral — a truly tragic origin for a most melodious name. 

The day was cloudy, and the mists hung heavy on the 
earth, at times coming down in slight drizzling rain, and 
completely hiding the distant mountains from view, but 




MISTS OF LOCH LOMOND. 177 

when we embarked on the Mountaineer, a little steamer 
that glides like a fairy over this beautiful lake, the fogs 
gradually dispersed, and though the clouds did not break, 
the shores were perfectly clear ; while a light veil of miet 
still hung upon the islands that lay just in front of us, 
like gems in a mass of liquid silver, and at times obscured 
the wild mountain gorges further up the lake. 

A strong breeze was blowing down from the mountains, 
and the effect was truly magical. The mists floated away 
as we approached and shifted from place to place, now 
skirting the shores with a film of hazy vapor, and now 
falling like a gossamer mantle on a beautiful emerald isle; 
now crowning a neighboring mountain with a cap of fleecy 
snow ; and now pouring down a rocky defile like a torrent 
of feathery foam, always resting on the lake just in ad- 
vance of us, but never allowing us to reach it; it by turns 
obscured and revealed the beauties of every portion of 
the scene. This, perhaps, was no disadvantage to the 
view, for the glorious beauties of these mountain lakes, 
with their verdant isles and magnificent shores, have a 
peculiar charm under the mellowing and softening influ- 
ence of a subdued and diffused light; when every part 
assumes its proper hue, and comes out in due relief, with- 
out the strong contrast of light and shade an unclouded 
sky would produce. 

The lofty summit of Ben Lomond, hid through neaily 
all the voyage by a dense mass of vapor, was, like all other 
parts of the landscape revealed for a few minutes just as 
we were passing its base, and his giant head, towering up 
into the region of storms, sent down a torrent of spark- 
ling water that streaked his sides with a line of foam, and 
poured into the lake from a rocky height with a fearful 
and terrible bound. 

The mountains now contract together, and the lake nar- 
rows almost to a frith. Deep valleys break up into the 
hills from the margin of the water, and the scenery 
becomes wild and desolate. I reluctantly landed at In- 
versnaid, a few miles above Ben Lomond ; but my regret 
gave way to a new excitement when the coach drove up 
for Loch Katrine. 



ITS WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY. 

The clouds now began to lift, and the wild scenery came 
out in more magnificent grandeur ; soon bright patches of 
sunshine began to chase each other over the rocky wilder- 
ness; now flashing back from a mountain peak; and now 
dancing over a stunted forest ; or, lingering on the moss- 
covered hills, it gilded the scene with transcendent beauty, 
and touched the hoary mountains with a halo of glory, 
sublimely contrasting with the wild and desolate grandeur 
of those parts still enveloped in shade. Among the sin- 
gular features that attract attention on this mountain route, 
is a hill called the Cobbler, but little inferior in height 
to Ben Lomond itself. Its summit is divided into three 
separate peaks, the central one round and regular, while 
on each side a sharp point shoots up, not merely perpen- 
dicular, but seeming to curve over toward the central hill 
as though attempting to form an arch above it ; like an 
enormous crescent cut transversely in the centre, and set 
on each side of the hill, with the points projecting toward 
each other. 

On every hand were barren wastes of rocky hills, where 
not a trace of vegetation was perceptible, save a scanty 
covering of moss and lichen, barely sufficient to give a hue 
of green to the almost naked rock; while here and there 
the valleys threw up a stunted forest of brushes and hazel 
where the hare and the fox could find a covert, or the 
partridge hide her timid young; it was a scene of desola- 
tion, wild, dreary and romantic, beyond what I had ever 
imagined of the sublimity of Alpine regions. Yawning 
ravines broke deep into the body of the hills, and tore up 
their rocky sides into fearful chasms, into which the sun 
could never penetrate, and towering peaks tossed their 
heads, bald, bleak and hoary, into the regions of the 
upper clouds. It was a fair sample of the Highland fast- 
nesses, in which the hardy mountaineer, unused to the 
refinements of society, formerly secreted himself: from 
whence he committed depredations on his neighbors, de- 
fying the restraints of law, and eluding the hand of 
justice : might was his measure of right, and his sword 
was his only arbiter. 

Five miles through this rugged scenery brought us to 



LOCH KATRINE. 179 

that lovely lake, which none can see without a thrill of 
rapture ; and none describe in words that will not dim 
the sparkling beauty of its mountain-girdled waters, and 
the halo of poetic glory which the magic pen of Scott 
has thrown around its coronet of islands, and its verdure- 
tufted shores. 

The little steamer, the Lady of the Lake, floated like a 
swan on its tranquil bosom, and we stepped on board, im- 
patient for the moment of departure to arrive. At this 
place, the upper or eastern end of Loch Katrine, the 
scenery does not meet the high expectations of one whose 
mind has been fired by the glowing imagery of that inter- 
dicted novel whose scene is laid upon its shores. The 
lake is one unbroken expanse ; no islands checker its 
bosom ; its waters lave the base of gradually swelling 
hills, covered with grass and heather, that fall back from 
the margin of the water, and leisurely swell up into minia- 
ture mountains, forming separate features in the landscape. 
At the appointed time we started. The mists had par- 
tially fallen again, and hung thick and heavy upon the 
hill-tops to the east, and closed the upper portions of the 
valleys ; but left the face of the waters, the lower grounds, 
and all the western landscape perfectly clear. As we 
skimmed down the lake the mountains closed in towards 
the water, and the hoary head of Ben Venue seemed to 
lift itself proudly upward as we approached ; his noble 
outline starting out in bold perspective against the sky, as 
we rounded a projecting headland ; and Ben A'an shot 
up a pointed dome of naked rock ; "a thunder-splintered 
pinnacle," while the crevices on the mountain sides, wide 
ruinous rents, torn deep and dark far down amid the rocks, 
assumed a wild, savage and grotesque appearance, as our 
position changed with the motion of our swan-like skiff; 
and the waters seemed to grow still more and more limpid 
and crystalline ; still deeper, and darker, and purer, as 
they caught the full reflection from the deep green foliage 
of the banks. 

Soon we approached the western extremity; and the 
scene became indescribably beautiful. High banks, clad 
in richest foliage, varying through every shade of green, 



180 ELYSIAN LANDSCAPE. 

drew closer and closer together, and the little lake nar- 
rowed to their encircling embrace ; pillars of rock of most 
graceful proportions rose here and there to vary the shore 
line ; fantastic hillocks and isolated pinnacles lay thickly 
strewn on the narrow margin between the water and the 
sublime heights of the Trosachs ; large rocks projecting 
beyond the bank and clothed in mountain verdure, let fall 
a rich drapery of heather and evergreen drooping down 
to the tranquil waters, which lay in inky blackness be- 
neath ; the trout dimpling the surface as it sported beneath 
the wave, and now and then darting into the air as if for 
very wantonness ; the eagle sailing majestically around as 
if delighted with the scene below j the universal yet ever- 
varying robe of green which draped the hills and moun- 
tains, save just enough of the native rock to relieve, and 
give effect to the scene ; a little nook of water creeping 
in between two rocky cliffs, that almost met in the heights 
above ; and especially that delightful spot, so familiar to 
the fancy, so full of poetic perfections, where the melody 
of birds resounds amid the fragrant bowers of Ellen's 
Isle, which rises among its sister islets, crowned with 
luxuriant verdure, like a mighty emerald floating on the 
liquid mirror, — all combine to form a scene of enchanting 
beauty, where the Fairies might hold their moonlight 
revels, and dance in their rainbow-tinted halls. 

But we sped rapidly through these delightful scenes ; 
their brightness and beauty flew by like the fitful and 
flashing Aurora : our little boat glided into her narrow 
haven, and this glorious vision of ethereal beauty vanished 
forever from my view. Oh, what a dream was that ! so 
fleeting, fantastic, and fairy-like! so delicate, so mildly 
beautiful, so like the unreal fancies of a vision ! And 
yet it was no dream ; it was an absolute, a tangible, yet 
an almost ethereal reality. It seemed to me the effect 
was finer than it would have been under an unclouded sky; 
but it is a scene of just that character, that, see it as you 
may for the first time, you will be fully persuaded it is 
under the most favorable circumstances possible. 




HIGHLAND SCENES. 181 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

SCENES OF THE LADY OF THE LAKE — HIGHLAND LEGENDS — BRIGG 
OF BRACKLYNN — CALLENDER — ASCENT OF BEN LEDI — VIEW 
FROM THE SUMMIT — DESCENT. 

" The hills, the everlasting hills, 
How peerlessly they rise ! 
Like earth's gigantic "sentinels, 
Discoursing in the skies." — HaUeck, 

"Nor do I, of that isle remember aught 
Of prospect more sublime and beautiful, 
Than Scotia's northern battlement of hills."— Pollok. 

now took coach again for Callender, nine miles. 
Our route lay through the scenes of the Lady of 
the Lake. The spot where Fitz-James lost his 
gallant Gray, was pointed out by our driver ; the glen 
where Roderic Dhu whistled up his five hundred men, 
and the rock against which Fitz-James leaned while 
flinging out his bold defiance, 

M Come one, come all, this rock shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as I ; " 

Ranlach mead where the clans were ordered to assemble, 
a level nook in a bend of the stream, perhaps an acre in 
extent ; Duncraggan where the cross of fire first rested 
in its rapid passage to arouse the clans to arms ; Coilanto- 
gle ford, the outlet of Loch Vennacbar, where James 
Fitz-James and Roderic l)hu fought their deadly duel ; 
and other places which Scott has invested with poetic 
interest, came crowding upon me with bewildering 
rapidity. 

At one place where we rounded a mountain point, the 
Trosachs burst upon the view with startling grandeur, 
encircling the head of Loch Achray, which slept in its 
romantic dell, and the lofty summits of Ben A'an and 
Ben Venue formed the background of this magnificent 
landscape Soon after we came to Loch Yennachar, and 
skirted along its beautiful shores, with a high chain of 
hills to our left and a lovely valley in front. Beyond 
16 



182 HIGHLAND LEGENDS. 

this we crossed the Brigg of Turk, an ancient stone arch 
thrown over a wild mountain torrent, that comes leaping 
down from the highlands. Here Fitz-James lost sight of 
his companions in the exciting chase which opens the 
story to which this region owns its classic interest : 

" And when the Brigg of Turk was won, 
The foremost horseman rode alone." 

Not far from the town of Callender is a stone bridge 
thrown over the Kelty, remarkable for its antiquity, and 
for being the centre of its own progeny of superstitious 
legends, which claim to range away back into the misty 
days of old, though really less ancient than the Lady of the 
Lake, previous to whose advent this region was unnoticed 
and almost unknown. When that delightful work was 
sent forth to the world, it was found to be so perfectly in 
unison with the nature of the Highland mind, that it at 
once became a legendary tale, disentombed as it were 
from the rubbish of the past. On the same field from 
which the fiction-loving knight reaped so bountiful a 
harvest, sprung up a luxuriant after-growth of legend 
and of story, rapidly assuming the semblance of anti- 
quity, which was soon mistaken for the reality. These 
legends, of necessity requiring a location, fastened upon 
the antique sites of this vicinity for their respective 
scenes, drew to their company a host of wild indefi- 
nite tales that had long been floating at random in the 
Highland fancy, and finally have transformed these 
mountain regions into the classic ground of Scotland. 

Not far from Callender is the Brigg of Bracklynn over 
a small stream, the Kelty, which comes rattling down a 
valley of very common appearance, between two hills 
whose wooded or grassy sides form a smooth and rather 
steep bed. Suddenly the ground becomes most wildly 
•broken ; rocks piled upon rocks obstruct the stream, and 
a yawning gorge opens below, down which the water 
plunges with furious haste, dashing over several succes- 
sive falls, now foaming through a narrow broken channel, 
now laying in inky blackness in pools of unknown depth, 
down, down it goes in its headlong career, till it reaches 



BRiaa OF BROCKLYNN. 183 

the bottom of the gorge, when it again becomes an ordi- 
nary stream, the whole wild frolic being acted in a dis- 
tance of forty rods. 

The structure of the ground here is singular. It seems 
as though a series of regular walls had been built of 
Cyclopean masonry, dressed by the square and straight 
edge, not perpendicular, but inclining considerably to the 
north. These walls vary from a few inches to several 
feet apart, the intervals being filled with loose earth and 
gravel. Some sharp convulsion may then have broken 
through this rocky barrier, with a sudden explosion from 
below, acting in a line across the line of walls, and 
throwing out a series of blocks, in some places eight or 
ten, in others only one, which still lay in confusion as 
they fell. Across one of these chasms, where a single 
block has been tossed clear of the wall without disturbing 
its fellows, the rustic bridge is thrown, consisting of two 
m sticks of undressed timber, light and fragile, protected 
by a simple hand-rail. The intervals between the walls 
have been emptied of their loose filling by the rains and 
floods of centuries, forming a series of narrow crevices, 
running back from the main abyss, and forming danger- 
ous chasms, into which the unwary wanderer might stray 
and never be heard of more. 

The town of Callender stands in a most romantic situ- 
ation. The giant bulk of Ben Ledi lies in full view, a 
few miles to the north, and a spur of Ben Voirlich 
sweeps around the town to the east, faced with a preci- 
pice of enormous height, which is covered with a beauti- 
ful growth of pines, like a mighty curtain of highly 
wrought tapestry. In this high northern latitude the sum- 
mer days are very long, the sun being more than eighteen 
hours above the horizon. Twilight links the evening and 
the morning in a golden chain together, and at midnight 
we can easily read by the light of the alternating day. 

Early on a bright morning in June, I started to scale 
the heights of Ben Ledi. The air was beautifully clear, 
— not a cloud floated in the sky, — the sun was glancing 
across the landscape, throwing the shadows of the bald 
and naked peaks across the gloomy valleys, pouring along 



184 ASCENT OF BEN LEDI. 

the mountain ranges a flood of crystal light, and giving 
those desolate regions a touch of summer glory. The 
hoary summit of Ben Ledi rose like a sleepy giant in the 
background of the landscape, as I took my course up the 
stream that descends from his shaggy brow. It required 
a walk of seven miles, mostly over a barren wild where 
human footstep seldom treads, to gain the highest point. 
A long gradual ascent brought me to the base ot a coni- 
cal-looking hill, which I climbed slowly and cautiously. 
In one place a soft velvety grass plot offered an inviting 
footing after a clamber over stony ground, but suspecting 
the fair appearance, I got above it, and picking up a 
stone tossed it into the beautiful green. It went down 
with a sudden chug, cut through the thin grassy cover- 
ing, and sunk in a quicksand of unknown depth. Not 
caring to investigate the hidden mystery, I made good 
my retreat. 

From the top of the first rise, — the base of another 
gradual ascent terminating in a second steep, — my path 
was easier, and I went on at a good pace till in climbing 
the second hill, I was stopped by a loose, black, boggy- 
looking soil, covered with scanty vegetation and broken 
into deep gullies. Proceeding forward with extreme 
caution, trying the ground at every step,! soon found it 
was not so treacherous as it appeared. Gaining confi- 
dence, I scrambled over many of those ravines, and 
finally got upon firmer ground once more. Another 
steep ascent and laborious climb brought me to the 
" second top," from which is a fine view of the valley of 
the Leny. The rugged sides of Strathire and Ben Voir- 
lich rose wild and craggy from the dark and gloomy 
valley, and many brother mountains tossed up their hoary 
heads, and grouped themselves into the most grotesque 
combinations. 

Still I was far, very far from the summit ; up, up, up I 
went, sometimes on smooth and easy paths, sometimes 
up rocky heights; now picking my way among bewilder- 
ing gullies, and now following a winding path worn by 
the flocks that browse amid these lonely wilds. At last 
on winding around a rocky height, I saw the topmost 



VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT 185 

summit just ahead of me, and could see distinctly that 
nothing higher lay beyond. One more tiresome climb, 
one more contest with the stony path, and I was at the 
aim and end of my pilgrimage. On reaching the sum- 
mit I looked round for the first time on the strange 
and wonderful scene. What a view was there ! I stood 
on the highest crest of a long range of hills that rose 
gradually from the south, and swept away to the north 
till lost in a series of similar hills that checkered the 
distant landscape. On either hand a wild mountain 
valley lay far, far below me, and the hillsides plunged 
down with a precipitous descent; to the south lay the 
long gradual slope of the spine of the mountain up 
which I had ascended, and to the east a wide open valley, 
broad, level and fertile, stretched away to the heights of 
Stirling Castle, and far beyond this the eye ranged uncon- 
fined to the bald summit of Arthur's Seat, and the 
beautiful town of Edina ; all else was a wild and desolate 
mountain view, whose hoary peaks shot up clear and 
sharp against the sky. Ben Lomond reared high his 
rocky head, the monarch of these dreary wastes ; the 
nearer mass of Ben Venue, and the rocky crest of Ben 
A'an, tossed up their giant heads in proud sublimity ; 
between them slept the glittering waters of Loch Katrine 
which gleamed and sparkled like an emerald in a waste 
and savage wilderness; Loch Achray, Loch Yennachar, 
and Loch Lubnaig, like a girdle of gems, encircled the 
base of the hill on which I stood ; to the east the lofty 
range of Uam-Var swept away in a long and winding curve, 
and the background was filled with a multitude of lofty 
hills, and over this extended landscape not a tree, not a 
shrub was to be detected, even with the glass, nothing but 
a scanty growth of stunted mountain moss, save that in 
the valleys here and there, light timber or small copses of 
brushwood lined the streams, and struggled up the hill- 
sides, but without attaining any considerable elevation. 

It was about eight o'clock when I reached the summit : 

the air was clear as crystal; a slight haze had begun to 

gather on the further hills, and a delicate fringe of clouds 

hung over the distant horizon ; but the view was wholly 

16* 



186 HO! FOR FRANCE. 

unobscured, and the conditions most favorable for a satis- 
factory observation. Soon after, the mists began to gather, 
the distant mountain tops were blotted out, a haze hung 
over the valleys, smoke wreathes crept up the hillsides, 
and floated along the mountain passes, and the scene 
gradually lost its charms. 

After lingering about an hour, I began the descent at 
a place where the hill plunged down to a valley almost 
on a level with the lake below. The descent was more 
fearful than I had supposed, and scarcely less fatiguing 
than the ascent, though more quickly performed ; the 
ground was mostly firm and the" footing good and solid. 

I returned to my lodgings weary and foot-sore, but far 
from regretting the rugged mountain journey. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

HO! FOR FRANCE — MY FIRST VrEW OF THE SEA-SHORE — DIS- 
TANT VIEW OF THE CLIFFS OF DOVER — ROUTE TO PARIS — 
ARRIVAL — BOULEVARDS — LOUVRE — TUILLERIES — GAR- 
DENS OF THE TUILLERIES — MUSEUMS IN THE LOUVRE — 
NOTRE DAME — VESTRY OF THE CHURCH OF ST. SULPIC E — 
COLUMN OF JULY — MADELINE — OBELISK OF LUXOR — 
INTERPRETING ITS DIALECT — PLACE DE CONCORD — 
GRANDEUR OF ITS SCENERY. 

*' Why this is France ! 
Where nature is only a living romance." — Bailey. 

"Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please." — Goldsmith. 

^$J.\RLY in the season I took passage from London 
to Boulogne, en route for Paris. We had a de- 
lightful sail across the strait of Dover, whose 
waters were perfectly calm, reflecting the flitting clouds 
of Heaven in their deep unfathomable mirror, but ruffled 
with a multitude of waves that went rippling over their 
tranquil bosom, far back in the wake of our little vessel. 
The next morning I rambled down the pier to the light- 




FIRST VIEW OF THE SEA-SHOKE. 187 

house at the entrance of the harbor, and had my first 
view of the seashore. The tide was coming in, and the 
waves came dashing over the rocks with a ceaseless roar, 
as they sped landwards from the restless bosom of the 
boundless deep, and their moaning sound seemed like the 
indignant wail of the water nymph, that her wild and 
free and unfettered career had been at length arrested. 

It is somewhat of a singular incident in my history that 
I have crossed the ocean from my native land to England, 
and again from London to Boulogne, to have my first view 
of the sea-shore, and first to hear the murmur of the waves 
upon the sands of the bonnie land of France. Yet so it 
is. I have seen the waters tossed into foaming waves 
upon the bosom of the mighty deep, have heard the ter- 
rible voice of the ocean when lashed by the sweeping 
tempest, and glided day after day upon its tranquil bosom 
when gently heaving with a lively breeze, but had never 
heard the soothing voice of the sea-shore ; the rippling of 
the waters at the limit of their course, where it is said to 
them by that Voice which winds and waves obey. Thus 
far shaft thou go but no further, and here shall thy proud 
waves be stayed. 

Whilst ascending a hill to have an extensive sea view, 
my attention was attracted to a bright line of silvery light 
gleaming in the western horizon, with the brilliancy of 
burnished crystal. As the day was extremely cloudy, I 
was baffled to account for it, but at length it suddenly 
flashed upon me that I was looking upon the far-famed 
heights of Dover, whose white chalk cliffs were glittering 
in a stream of sunlight that broke through an opening in 
the cloud, and fell full and fair upon the fearful precipice 
of Shakspeare's Cliff, investing it and the neighboring 
hills with a beauty and splendor that made them burn and 
glow in the distance, like a rim of burnished silver encir- 
cling the dim horizon, while all the rest of the landscape 
was enveloped in deepest shade. 

My first introduction to French society was not unpleas- 
ant, though I labored under many disadvantages, being 
unable to speak the language. But the glorious city of 
Paris is before me, and all the probable privations of a 



188 PASSAGE TO PARIS. 

few weeks are welcome, if I but have a ramble through 
its shady boulevards, and see the Louvre and the Tuiller- 
ies ; the Obelisk of Luxor and the Madeline? 

Early on the morning of a beautiful day, I took the 
train for Paris. For some distance we skirted along the 
sea-shore, through a waste and dreary country, which, 
however, became more beautiful as the morning advanced, 
and especially as we approached the city of Amiens. I 
was anxious to see this place, but merely caught a general 
view of it, and a glimpse of its grand old cathedral, as we 
rolled along the outskirts of the station. The country now 
became very fine, and an occasional favorable position 
presented us with a widely extended landscape, while 
noblemen's residences, snugly nestled in beautiful parks, 
with long avenues of trees either straight or serpentine, 
interspersed with fountains and ornamental canals, would 
peep out at intervals amid the rural scenery and enliven 
our progress as we sped forward in our impetuous career. 
Here and there a ruined castle, an ivy-mantled abbey, or 
a fine romantic church checkered our way ; and a little 
after noon the country again gave evidence that we were 
nearing a populous city. Beautiful country seats were 
perched upon slight eminences, or slept in the shady re- 
cesses of artificial forests, while spacious avenues of trees 
leading out to the open highways, and extensive gardens 
blooming with the choicest flowers, decked these patrician 
pleasure grounds ; and neatness, elegance and order, told 
that we were already within the influence of the taste, 
fashion and etiquette of the proud capital of France. 

We soon passed through an archway that cuts the city 
wall, and dashed screaming and thundering into the con- 
fines of this exceeding great city, which expanded before 
us in all its ideal beauty ; a labyrinth of humanity in its 
every phase, its highest flights of grandeur and elegance, 
its refinements of civilization and art, its brilliant mental 
development and sublime flights of thought ; — and on the 
other hand its lowest and most groveling features of filth, 
degradation and shame ; its wastes of moral desolation, 
and dark fens of pollution. 

Having engaged lodgings, I started out to survey the 



FIRST VIEW OF THE LOUVRE. 189 

beauties and the novelties of ruy new location. Of course 
my first destination was the Louvre and the Tuilleries, 
famous the world over for their architectural splendor 
and the museums of nature and art with which they are 
enriched. A long walk down the Boulevard de Stras- 
burgh and the Boulevard de Sebastopol, a populous thor- 
oughfare, bordered on each side with a row of shady trees, 
and buildings of light, airy and graceful architecture, 
brought me to the Seine, whose classic floods have been 
glimmering in the eye of fancy from the sunny days of 
my childhood. Here I examined my map of Paris, and 
turned down the stream to find the Louvre. 

At length as I rounded a crowded ;orner, a magnificent 
palace with a colonnade of lofty Corinthian columns opened 
upon the view, and I knew that I had at last seen the 
master-piece of modern architecture, the pride and the 
glory of France, and the delight of a long line of Gallic 
sovereigns. On the principal front of the Louvre are 
twenty-eight fluted Corinthian columns, coupled in pairs, 
forming a grand colonnade, behind which runs a deeply 
recessed gallery, with windows flanked with columns sur- 
mounted with capitals of the same order in relief. At 
each end a wing projects forward as far as the colonnade. 
Over the centre of this magnificent vestibule rises a tym- 
panum, in which is a large group of marble figures. The 
effect of this colonnade is extremely fine, the play of light 
and shade among the columns is enchanting, and the 
whole scene is such as few buildings in the world can 
equal. The basement is penetrated by an archway lead- 
ing into an open court in the centre, around which the 
inner walls of the Louvre present a magnificent array of 
splendid columns, sculptured walls, ornate capitals, re- 
cessed doors and windows, elaborate cornices, and pedi- 
ments filled with exquisite bass-reliefs in marble. 

Adjoining the Louvre on the east is the Tuilleries. 
This building, so intimately connected with French his- 
tory, is most elaborately decorated, indeed overloaded 
with ornament. The columns are encircled with richly 
carved bands of flowers and wreathes, and large stones 
with oval panels containing fantastic groups, are frequent 



190 THE TUILLERIES. 

in the walls, serving rather to distract the mind with their 
intricate designs, and leaving not enough of plain surface 
to relieve and give effect to the elaborate decoration. 

The Tuilleries, which is over a thousand feet in length, 
encloses a court called the Place de Carousal, in the centre 
of which are two lovely gardens enclosed in iron railings, 
laid out in gravel walks and enlivened with the gentle 
murmur and the sparkling spray of fountains, around 
which classic statues stand in graceful attitudes, and birds 
of brilliant plumage flit from flower to flower. Through 
this court pass several public thoroughfares, along which 
pours a constant stream of carriages, omnibuses and pro- 
miscuous travel. The inner walls, like the outer, are too 
copiously ornamented. 

On the east of this royal residence are the far-famed 
Gardens of the Tuilleries. An extensive pleasure garden 
is enclosed with iron palisades, and interspersed with 
shrubbery enlivened with groups of statuary, and cooled 
with beautiful fountains whose liquid murmur mingles 
with the music of the birds that sport around the margin 
of their marble basins. Through these pleasant grounds 
a walk leads up to the royal entrance, but guarded by 
two ugly sentinels beyond whom none can pass save the 
courtiers who wait on royalty. Here is the residence of 
the august Louis Napoleon, and no sacrilegious commoner 
dare intrude his unhallowed presence within the lordly 
precincts of his royal courts. In front of these gardens 
is a space similarly decorated, which is open to the public, 
and the balance is set with forest trees, forming beautiful 
avenues running towards the Palace, but without order at 
right angles. The gardens contain sixty-five acres. 

The Louvre is the great repository of the national mu- 
seums. A long series of rooms is occupied with the 
gallery of paintings, and few indeed exceed it in the 
splendor of the collection. It has been said by those 
who are considered competent authority, and cautious in 
their decisions, to be inferior only to that of the Vatican. 
The Egyptian and Assyrian Galleries are also extensive, 
but inferior to those of London. Napoleon's state rooms 
are thrown open to the public, in which are his royal 



NOTRE DAME. 191 

robes, his scepter, crown, and sword of state, and other 
insignia of royalty, his body-arms and the caparisons of 
his steed, together with many articles of his domestic 
furniture. The scepter and prayer-book of Charlemagne, 
the bible of St. Louis, and other relics of the early sov- 
ereigns of France, are of great interest as memorials of a 
remote antiquity. 

A room, appropriately called the Long Room, being 
over thirteen hundred feet in length, extends through 
one wing of the Louvre and the Tuilleries. It is beauti- 
fully ornamented with pillars and marble work. But the 
gem of the whole is the Gallerie de Apollo, which is 
decorated in a style of grandeur that would seem to admit 
of no improvement. The arched ceiling is divided by 
rich gilded figures of ideal designs, into distinct compart- 
ments, with a magnificent allegorical painting in each, 
representing Amphitrite, Aurora, Spring, Night and 
Poesy. The walls are also divided by panels, between which 
are windows on the one side looking out on the Gardens 
de Infanta, and on the other false doors for symmetry. 
The room is profusely gilded, and tastefully ornamented 
with brilliant colors in beautiful designs, and lacks but 
little save the grand obscurity of stained glass windows, 
to approach the Alhambra itself in beauty. 

The Cathedral church of Notre Dame is situated on an 
island in the Seine. Two towers rise from the western 
end, and a long slender spire from the centre of the 
building, like a finger pointing to a better land. But on 
entering I was disappointed to find the interior far, far 
below the majestic dignity of the exterior. With a most 
depraved taste, the noble pillars and arches are painted 
in checker work of various bright colors and figures, more 
or less fanciful, and most absurdly splattered over the 
whole interior. The effect is repulsive. The ceiling is 
spangled with gilt stars on a blue ground. And I have 
lived to be disappointed in the church of Notre Dame ! 
How greatly inferior to the noble simplicity of the Louvre, 
and the magnificent but harmonious decorations of the 
glorious Madeline! 

The vestry of the church of St. Sulpice is supremely 



192 CHURCH OF gff. SULPICE. 

fine. A circular apartment encrusted in marble, and 
hung with curtains of gilded velvet, arched overhead in the 
form of a dome, with a wide opening leading up into a 
second dome in which is a brilliant painting of the As- 
cension, form the outlines of this small but gorgeous 
sachristy. At intervals around the vestry are Corinthian 
pillars of the finest marble, while the intervening spaces 
and the surface of the lower dome, flash with gold and 
silver disposed in beautiful designs. Between the two 
pillars at the back of the vestry, an open space reveals a 
second apartment lighted by tinted glass from above. 
Here the Virgin in marble, with the child in her arms, is 
standing on a large globe which has lodged upon the rocks 
of a steep mountain declivity, and the gorgeous tinted light, 
as it falls like a violet veil from the unseen glory above, 
on the beautiful marble group and the shaggy mountain 
side, throws over the matchless apartment a beauty and a 
glory that utterly defy description. 

On the site of the old Bastile, stands the Column of 
July, erected to the memory of those who were murdered 
by the infuriated mob in the terrible "three days" of 
July, 1831. It is a large bronze column, inscribed in 
gilt letters with the names of the victims of that savage 
massacre. On the capital rests a large gilt ball, sur- 
mounted by a colossal figure of the Genius of Liberty. 
He stands on one foot, with the other raised, the wings 
expanded, and the hands, one bearing a laurel branch, 
and the other a torch, in the attitude of taking flight, and 
leaving his former haunts to seek a resting place else- 
where ; and an American might remark that his face is 
turned to the west. It is an appropriate emblem of the 
times it commemorates. The Genius of Liberty indeed 
departed for a season during the fearful commotions that 
attended these wild outbreaks of the popular frenzy of 
this highly excitable people. 

On a lovely Sabbath morning I walked down the Italian 
Boulevard, one of the great arteries of Paris bordered 
with trees and crowded with the fashion and the gaiety of 
this ideal people, the splendor of whose buildings is in 
keeping with the rich liveries and gorgeous equipages 



THE MADELINE. 193 

that go thronging through its shady avenue. It leads to 
the Madeline, the crowning glory of Paris. This mag- 
nificent church, which is modeled after the Parthenon, 
and from which again our own (xirard's College is copied, 
stands on an elevated platform of marble,* around the en- 
tire margin of which runs a colonnade of fluted Corinthian 
columns, leaving a spacious corridor between it and the 
walls of the church. The southern portico, being the 
principal entrance, has a double row of pillars, and a lofty 
vaulted ceiling with wreaths deeply cut in stone, set in 
separate compartments. The entire cornice is trailed 
around with garlands of flowers and laurel wreaths, sup- 
ported at regular intervals by angels and genii in playful 
and sportive attitudes, and here and there heads of angels 
project from the eaves, breaking up the monotony of out- 
line, and giving greater variety to the view. 

The southern pediment contains a large sculpture. 
The figure of Christ, eighteen feet high, stands in the 
centre, with Magdalen at his feet. On his left hand the 
angel of Vengeance repels Hatred, Lust, Hypocrisy and 
Avarice, and a demon precipitating a lost spirit into the 
abyss, fills the corner. At the right hand of Christ are 
the angels of Mercy, Innocence, Faith, Hope and Charity, 
while in the corner an angel greets a spirit, just rising to 
eternal life. 

The form and proportions of the building are Grecian. 
It is not of a monstrous overgrown size, like too many public 
edifices; there are no little mincing decorations to detract 
from the general harmony; no projecting wings to break 
in upon the unity of design; each part is in perfect keeping 
with the whole; nothing is superfluous; nothing is wanting. 
It completely fills and satisfies the mind, and is undoubt- 
edly one of the most perfect examples of architecture in 
existence. 

Internally the Madeline is glorious. It consists of a 
vast nave, each side interrupted by four projecting piers, 
fronted with lofty Corinthian columns supporting colossal 
arches, from which rise three cupolas, each containing a 

* It is 828 feet long, and 128 wide. 
17 



194 OBELISK OF LUXOR. 

large circular sky-light, by which alone the church is 
lighted. The cupolas are encircled at their bases with 
gilded work, and in the vacant spaces at the corners are 
figures of the Apostles supporting the dome above them. 
Between the piers runs an Ionic colonnade of clouded 
pillars, with a marble balustrade, which under each arch 
becomes a Corinthian pediment with columns. On the 
ground floor a railing of pure white marble separates the 
nave from the side aisles. The walls are lined with pol- 
ished marble, and ornamented with pictures in the highest 
style of art. 

A little distance in front of the Madeline stands the 
Obelisk of Luxor, one of the most interesting objects of 
this or any other city. The Place de Concord, of which 
it forms the chief ornament, is an open square just beyond 
the Gardens of the Tuilleries at the further end from the 
Palace, and in view of many of the great curiosities of 
the city. This Obelisk is one of the two that formerly 
stood in front of the great temple of Thebes, the modern 
Luxor, where they were erected by Sesostris the Great, 
B. C. 1550. It was brought from Egypt by order of the 
French government, and erected here in 183G. It is a 
single block of red syenite, over seventy-two feet in 
height,* covered on each face with three lines of hiero- 
glyphic inscriptions running from top to bottom, com- 
memorative of Sesostris ; the middle line being most 
deeply cut and most carefully finished ; consisting of 
figures of men and animals, birds and reptiles, which are 
as accurately defined, and in as perfect preservation as if 
just from the chisel of the sculptor. 

This venerable monument which has witnessed the 
flight of more than thirty slow-revolving centuries; sur- 
viving the nation which called it into existence, and a 
long succession of dynasties that rose and flourished on 
its ruins; comes down to us charged with a precious 
record of the times of old, but locked up in that uncouth 

* It is a four-sided shaft, with a pyramidal summit 72 feet 3 
inches high, 7 feet 6 inches square at bottom, 5 feet 4 inches at 
top, weighs 500,000 lbs., stands on a postal of granite 27 feet 
high, and has 1600 hieroglyphic figures. 



INTERPRETING ITS DIALECT. 195 

figure, which long defied the anxious attempts of those 
most deeply versed in antiquities to decipher its hidden 
meaning, and reveal the tale it told to the comprehension 
of the modern world. Fully persuaded that treasures of 
knowledge lay concealed beneath its strange devices, the 
most persevering efforts were made by the learned to 
wrest its hidden meaning from the ceremental mystery 
in which it was enshrouded, and interpret to the world 
the story which it told with its strange mysterious voice. 
At length the key was discovered by Champollion, in the 
famous Rosetta Stone, which is now in the British Mu- 
seum, and the uncouth figures clustered around this 
wondrous shaft, gradually fell into regularity and order, 
and arranged themselves in intelligible groups, till at 
length the whole assumed the harmony of regular con- 
nected thought, and this ancient monument of a primitive 
age yielded up its long cherished secret, and revealed the 
story of three thousand years ago. And now " behold a 
wonder." The story thus rescued from the ruins of a 
nation's literature long since vanished, proves to be in 
strict conformity with the Sacred writings, and the two 
records thus mutually verify and confirm each other. 

The Place de Concord may be called the very heart and 
core of Paris. Two noble fountains play on either side of 
the Obelisk, one dedicated to maritime, the other to river 
navigation, and the decorations of each are suitable to its 
object. On one side lay the far-famed Gardens of the 
Tuilleries, through whose artificial groves the noble pal- 
ace gleams with its gorgeous architectural decorations, its 
sculptured walls and ornate windows, its numerous turrets 
and ugly quadrangular domes, its eventful history and 
varied associations; on the other the Champs Elysees,* 
the pride of modern promenades, stretches away through 
a continuous artificial grove tb the Barrier de l'Etiole, 
which bounds the view in this direction, while a panorama, 
several caffees and places of amusement, in light graceful 
and fantastic buildings, are interspersed among the trees, 
which here and there are disposed in geometrical figures, 

* Pronounced Shaws Eleesey. 



196 PLACE DE CONCORD. 

with secondary avenues, circles enclosing flower gardens, 
and fountains warbling forth their liquid murmur, and 
sparkling with silvery lustre when the sunbeam glances 
on them through the clustering foliage. On the south of 
these extensive grounds flows the beautiful Seine, whose 
classic floods have laved the feet of Charlemagne, and 
ministered to the wealth and power and pleasure of a long 
line of haughty sovereigns ; now sweeping in one wide 
unruffled flood from bank to bank, it rolls along in its 
pride and power, and now broken by the piers of numer- 
ous bridges, it murmurs a plaintive tone as it surges and 
eddies around them. 

At right angles to this line of vision, other noble pros- 
pects open upon the view. To the north up the Rue* 
Royale, is seen one corner of the glorious Madeline, with 
the thick cluster of tasteful and elegant buildings in its 
immediate neighborhood, while to the south a fanciful 
bridge spans the Seine, on whose opposite bank rises the 
noble portico of the Legislative Hall, and the scarcely 
less imposing facade of the University of France, while 
beyond these towers the mighty dome of the Hotel des 
Invalides, beneath whose gorgeous canopy repose the ashes 
of the great Napoleon; the taper spire of the Notre Dame 
shoots upward its tiny finger ; the florid magnificence of 
the Palace of Luxembourg, and the lofty towers of the 
church of St. Sulpice, are distinguished amid the wilder- 
ness of houses, and the view is bounded by the chain of 
lovely hills which borders the Paris basin. 

Such is the Place de Concord. Such the view which 
greets the eye of the classic student, and thrills him with 
a feeling of triumphant joy, when first he stands beside 
the Obelisk of Luxor, and gazes on this wondrous scene. 
He who has mingled with the surging throng that eddies 
round this hoary monumetot of more than thirty centuries 
ago, and indulged the solemn feelings that come throb- 
bing on his bosom as he gazes on the proud area round 
him, till he becomes bewildered with the fervor of his 
own reflections, and his eye begins to ramble listlessly 

* Rue, street. 



MORAL GRANDEUR OF ITS SCENERY. 197 

over the Madeline and the Tuillcries, or to gaze in dreamy 
frenzy on that solemn shaft, upon whose top the Geniu3 
of Antiquity sits enthroned, has felt one of those deep 
emotions of which the human heart is capable; has wit- 
nessed one of those proud localities whose wondrous 
features stamp the supreme dignity of Man, and make 
the circuit of the earth a joy. 




CHAPTER XXXIII. 

CEMETERY OP PERE LA CHAISE — A REVERIE. 

"Dreams are the children of an idle brain." — Shakspeare. 

"Divinity hath oftentimes descended 
Upon our slumbers."— Shirley. 

" It is but a dream— it will melt away."— Mrs. Hemans. 

!N" a rising ground in the outskirts of the city, 
which flanks the eastern borders of the Paris 
basin, is the Cemetery of Pere la Chaise. Here 
I wandered among the beautiful green bowers of the 
graveyard, beneath which sleep the numerous dead, 
whom fond affection has conveyed with weeping and sighs 
to their final resting places. Near the entrance are the 
tombs of Abelard and Eloiza united in one, an old struc- 
ture, weather-beaten, mouldering, and time-worn, but full 
of interest from the touching story of their lives, so fruit- 
ful of sympathy through all succeeding ages, and so 
beautifully memorialized by Pope in his paraphrase of 
their epistles of love. Here are many monuments to men 
of world-wide fame. Volney reposes beneath a large 
quadrangular pyramid. The Reverend Sidney Smith, 
an Englishman of great fame, has laid down to rest 
among the people of this hostile land. Gay Lussac, the 
chemist, Parmentier, Moliere and La Fontaine have 
elegant monuments. Here is also the tomb of Laplace, 
the great astronomer, a pedestal from which rises an 
obelisk surmounted by an urn, and ornamented by figures 
17* 



198 CEMETERY OP PERE LA CHAISE. 

and inscriptions, illustrative of his favorite science and 
great achievements. Here is the grave of Marshal Ney. 
No monument marks the place of his rest, but it is en- 
closed by an iron railing, and the ground is laid out in a 
beautiful garden, planted with flowers, and intersected 
with miniature walks. 

A chapel stands in the midst of the graves, a little 
fairy mausoleum, like a summer-house of wicker work 
for the revelings of the elfs and gnomes that hover round 
the graveyard ; and a rosary and wood-vine bower, where 
the daisy and violet bloom amid beds of fragrant myrtle 
and knots of curious verdure, and here the angels are 
wont to linger, that guard the portals to the future world. 
In front of this lovely little chapel is a space enclosed 
with a hedge of hawthorn, thickly set with ornamental 
trees, and decked with flowering shrubs. From the ter- 
race which borders this chapel yard, where the eye ranges 
unconfined over the whole extent of Paris, a flight of 
marble steps descends to the general slope of the ground. 
Seated in a cozy little nook on the platform at the 
landing of this stairway, where a neighboring cedar 
threw its sheltering arms athwart the sombre passage, and 
screened me from the glare of the noonday sun, while a 
ceaseless tide of human life went murmuring by, eddying 
through the winding paths and vine clad arbors of the 
grounds, or reclining amid the fragrant bowers that deck 
this great necropolis, I fell into a train of serious thought, 
on the vicissitudes of life. 

Before me lay the great city of the living, its mighty 
heart beating ever responsive to the stimulus of a selfish 
policy, its leading arteries throbbing with unceasing 
pulsations of business and of pleasure ; — around me was 
the city of the dead, whose gloomy thoroughfares lead to 
the confines of a world unknown, the inmates of whose 
narrow temples are done with the fleeting things of time, 
and amid whose rosy arbors fond affection lingers to 
drop the scalding tear and breathe the tender sigh, around 
the vault where lay the last remains of an earthly joy; 
and as I gazed and pondered, my mind was soothed into 
a tranquil repose by the melody of happy birds that war- 



AN ANQEL OF THE FANCY. 199 

bled in the leafy bowers, — and lulled by the liquid mur- 
mur of a fountain that sang its ceasless monotone in 
unison with the gentle whisperings of the breeze playing 
through the trembling leaves, till the scene became 
shadowy and indistinct, the fancy sported independent of 
the will, and a reverie slowly stole upon my mind. 

A beautiful female figure which I had been casually 
noticing as she leisurely rambled among the graves where 
rest the sons of poverty and toil in a distinct corner of 
the ground, now turned her steps toward the chapel, and 
as she approached a change came over her every feature. 
Her countenance seemed to glow with a mild and un- 
earthly radiance, a sprig of myrtle in her hair became a 
wreathe of amaranth, her robes now lost the hues of earth 
and assumed the brilliancy of celestial white, tinctured 
with a light cerulean hue, a willow twig which she carried 
became a silver wand, the ample folds of her drapery 
seemed to expand from her shoulders and developed into 
wings of dazzling lustre, that came mantling o'er her 
breast, and she was rapidly transfiguring into an angel of 
light. 

I was filled with awe as she approached, and bowed 
my head in reverence when she directed her steps to the 
place where I sat. I arose respectfully, and she took my 
hand, — a thrill of feeling unknown before ran through 
my nerves, the cells of Fancy were opened, and I felt 
the dregs of sensation rapidly distilling away. Mortal, 
said she, wouldst thou see the changes of human life, 
the vicissitudes of man ? Yes, said I, shew me them, I 
beseech thee, if thou countest me worthy. She replied, 
with a smile of ineffable kindness, No man is worthy 
of a heavenly vision, but it is sometimes granted from 
the abundance of grace which Heaven bestows on her 
exiled sons. Then laying her hand on my head, the 
films were cleared from my spiritual eyes, and I saw with 
a vision surpassing that of mortal man. I was trans- 
ported from the outward world, and placed at once amid 
the unseen and the eternal. Look now, said she before 
thee, and tell me what thou seest. 

I looked and beheld a dazzling scene that startled me 



200 EEVERIE IN 

with its enchanting beauty. I see, said I, in an ecstacy 
of joy, a happy valley, embowered with delicious arbors 
where sparkling fountains and murmuring waterfalls play 
amid groves of stately cedars, and the luxuriant vine 
clings to the shady forest trees, and mounts to the crown 
of the lofty palm; while in the midst a garden of celes- 
tial beauty blooms with the choicest flowers, among 
which I see a frequent knot entwined with the rose and 
myrtle of earth, the balm and amaranth of Heaven ; and 
a light above the brightness of the noonday sun beams 
down from the smiling skies, whose intense azure hue is 
tinctured with a flush of rosy red, as though not light 
alone, but love, was poured from the realms on high ; and 
two beings — yes, but two — I thought I saw a third of 
other form — invested with a dignity and grace I never 
saw in mortal man, seem sporting amid these delightful 
bowers, now engaged in pleasing converse as they pass 
from flower to flower, or reposo beneath a shady arbor, 
where blooming violets checker the myrtle bed, and the 
daisy and the cowslip shed ambrosia round ; and now 
raising their eyes to Heaven, they seem lost in thanks- 
giving and] praise; and in the midst of the garden a 
tree of exceeding grandeur, and beautiful to the view, 
towers upward till its summit is lost in the heavens, 
while its leaves seem invested with the dews of life, its 
flowers distill a perfume of nectar that pervades the air 
even to this distant hill, and its fruit looks not of a kind 
that mortal hands should touch. Tell me, I pray thee, 
is this sweet vale on the shores of the River of Life in 
Heaven ? No, she replied, thou seest the primitive 
home of man, the garden is the garden of Eden, that 
lofty tree is the tree of Knowledge, that happy couple 
are the parents of the human race. But look again, 
a change has pervaded the scene. 

I looked, and behold, a third being had entered the 
garden, whose image perhaps I had dimly seen before. 
In general outline he resembled the others, but was every 
way deformed and hideous ; his countenance betokened 
the most intense envy of the happy pair, and when - he 
raised his eyes above, it was with a look of hatred, mingled 



PERE LA CHAISE. 201 

with hardened defiance j his breath formed a murky cloud 
around his head, incapable of mixing with the pure 
atmosphere of Paradise ; his footsteps blasted the open- 
ing flowers, and his pathway could be traced by the 
deadened vegetation, and a fog of bluish vapor, through 
which flickered livid flashes of lurid flame, that hung 
over the shrinking foliage ; — he was a blot on the fair 
creation a foul stain on the face of virgin nature. He 
approached the happy couple, transformed himself into 
an outward form of beauty, talked a moment with them, 
then springing to the tree of Knowledge, he rapidly 
scaled its trunk, plucked a handful of fruit, and descend- 
ing, gave it to the wondering pair, who ate of the tempt- 
ing apples. 

Instantly a change came over the landscape ; the light 
of heaven was dimmed, an angry cloud gathered over- 
head, fitful flashes of lightning gleamed from the wrathful 
sky, muttering thunders began to roll through the lower- 
ing clouds, gusts of wind swept across the pleasant valley, 
and soon a terrific tempest raged over the trembling earth ; 
a sulphurous odor was diffused through the air, earth- 
quakes rocked the solid mountains, Paradise was blotted 
from my view ; ruin and wrath reigned triumphant, and 
chaos seemed to have come again. I turned in terror to 
my Instructress, who said in a solemn tone, The wrath 
of God is terrible; shall mortal man contend with his 
Maker ? Thy parents were commanded not to touch the 
tree of Knowledge, and forewarned that in the day they 
ate its fruit they should surely die. This was the only 
sign of their allegiance to Heaven, all else was theirs 
beside. Yet they rashly disobeyed. Look now and see 
the fearful results. 

I obeyed with trembling, and lo, the fury of the tem- 
pest had passed away and left a scene of general wreck. 
The blooming garden was transformed to a withered 
heath ; the tree of Knowledge was stripped of its goodly 
branches, and stood a scathed and blasted trunk, angry 
clouds still lingered in the horizon, and fitful gusts 
swept at intervals across the barren plain ; the pair 
before so happy, were cowering for shelter beneath the 



202 REVERIE IN 

blasted vines of their delightful bower, shivering in the 
pitiless blasts of sleet and gusts of pelting hail, with 
terror depicted in their Countenances, and anguish en- 
graven OH their tonus; the heavens above them were as 
brass, and a dim and siekly radiance took the place of 
the dazzling splendor of their happier estate ; the earth 
beneath them was as iron, and yielded only thorns and 
brambles ; the Evil One sat on his throne of ruins, and 
liis baneful presence banished peace and happiness from 
the earth ; while a shadowy form of most beautiful kind, 
mild and gentle as an angel, with a radianee in her beam- 
ing eye that told of a higher sphere, and a lustre in her 
silvery robes that had not beeu soiled by the storm of 
wrath. Hit ted around the desolate bower, and at intervals 
spoke to the wretched pair. The glance of her eye 
seemed to shed a mellow light around them, and their 
6pirits revived when they listened to her words. 

A gleam of light now caught my eye in the clouds. 
Looking upwards I saw a form of beauty descending 
from heaven — an Angel of superior order, girt with a 
gem starred zone, and waving an olive branch in his 
hand ; his countenance bright with a smile of love, and 
a garland of flowers twined in his flowing locks, his robes 
bespangled with sparkling gems and his wings enameled 
with starry eyes; he descended and sat on the blasted 
trunk of the tree of Knowledge. A few buds swelled 
beneath his wing, and the tree g:ive signs of a siekly life, 
lie looked around on the dismal scene, then slowly ex- 
panding his radiant wings, descended and stood by our 

common parents. He addressed a few w y ords to them, 

and a change came over their whole demeanor. They 
cast a look of stern defiance at their grisly king, who 
quailed before their steadfast gaze, then turning to their 
heavenly visitor, bowed themselves reverently to the earth, 
then rose and went forth cheerfully to toil, and repair 
the havoc which the storm had made. Multitudes soon 
joined them in their allotted task. The thorn and the 
thistle were pruned away, and the vine and the olive 
cherished. 

Turning to my guide I said with deep emotion : What 



PERK LA C FLUSH. 203 

meaneth thii general wreck ? What form is that sitting 
on the throne? And tell me, 1 pray thee, who are those 
beautiful figures dad in robes ol light? She replied in 

accents stern but mild : The wreck is the wreck of man 

after transgressing the command of God. The being 
who now rules in the world is the Prinoe of Darkness. 
The spirit thou sawest whispering to thy parents is Hope, 
who alone remained behind when sin exiled the Heaven- 
ly host, and the mighty Angel that descended and sat on 
the tree of Knowledge is t ho Angel of Mercy. He spoke 
to the man and the woman words of comfort. He (old 

them the glad tidiogs of a ooming redemption from the 

power of the Adversary, and their spirits revived at the 
assurance. The Tyrant cowered before their glance, 
as knowing that Id the end he must, fall and lose his pres- 
ent power. But the wrath of Heaven is nnappeased, 
and gloom and perplexity still prevail. Thus the cup of 
life is mingled with the joys and sorrows, and smiles and 

tears alternate in your path. But look again j a further 

vision is before thee. 

I looked, the valley was filled with a populous orowd, — 

the sound oi' revelry and riot ascended to my ears, — the 
Evil one still sat on his throne, which was now transformed 
io a gilded tomb; his subjects bowed obsequiously to his 
power, and eagerly performed his every will, all save 
a select lew who dwelled apart, in a city by themselves, in 
which was a temple of gorgeous splendor. 

This peouliar people had a casket of transparent crys- 
tal confided to their keeping, whieh beamed and flowed 
with dazzling lustre. It was guarded with jealous care 
by a select band, who wore a garb of embroidered stulf 
and a breastplate of glittering gold, on whieh L could 
distinctly trace the form of characters I could not. read. 
Then a man appeared of noble and commanding mien, 
who ruled the people by Divine commission, and held 
converse with Heaven as man with man. I le approached 
the Saored casket and reverently dropped into it live jew- 
els of celestial lustre, which he had received in trust, di- 
rectly from the ban, Is of a winged messenger, with a 
Charge to guard them with faithful care. An Angel de- 



204 REVERIE IN 

scended among the elders of the city, selected one of their 
number, a man of heavenly countenance and dignified de- 
meanor, led him forth to the porch^ of the Temple, 
touched his brow with a golden wand and breathed into 
him the spirit of divine knowledge, then gave him a 
precious gem, a pearl of priceless value, with a charge to 
place it in the crystal casket for the use of the chosen 
people. Re bowed his head in reverence, and joyfully 
deposited the sacred treasure among the people's jewels. 
Then from time to time, men of the finest mould and 
most exalted natures, commissioned by a heavenly messen- 
ger, placed each a precious gem in the same repository. 
Many of them were graven with beautiful figures of dim 
and shadowy outline, ever blending, yet ever distinct. 
The sparkling gems reflected rays ot heavenly light, too 
pure for mortal eyes, — a vestige of the glorious light 
of Paradise, which the sin of man had veiled. 

The Heavens seemed to open above the favored city, 
and a beam of celestial light fell upon it, — the only bright 
spot amid the general gloom, while the wrath of the 
Prince of darkness was aroused against the people of the 
city, and he waged a ceaseless warfare with them, 
specially desiring to get the casket of jewels in his power 
and trample them under his feet ; yet it was ever beyond 
his reach, and its precious contents were never soiled by 
his baneful touch. Thou seest, said my Instructress, the 
conflict between light and darkness. The Prince of the 
power of the air now rules in the kingdoms of the earth, 
and he maketh war on the sons of light and ever seeketh 
to overcome them. Tell me, I pray thee, said I, the 
meaning of that glorious casket and the gems deposited 
therein. What are those mystic figures, beautiful but in- 
distinct, with which they are engraven. These, said she, 
are the Oracles of Divine Revelation, given to man to il- 
lumine his steps through the gloom which sin has caused. 
They are fragments from the paving stones of Heaven, 
and the curious inscriptions, all wrought by the finger of 
God, are emblems of events that shall come "to pass here- 
after. 

She made a pass with her silver wand and the scene was 



PEKE LA CHAISE. 205 

changed. The grisly King became much alarmed, — he 
trembled on his throne; he clutched his sceptre with 
convulsive power, as though he feared it would elude his 
grasp. I marveled much at this, for his dominion seemed 
more firmly established than before, even the people of the 
favored city seemed to have transferred their allegiance and 
accepted him as their lord. The ligbt still shined on the 
temple, but dimmed by surrounding clouds, and the g ems 
in the crystal casket still sparkled with undiminished 
splendor, while all beside was dim. 

I heard the sound of a trumpet and the rollings of 
many thunders, and a herald's voice proclaimed from the 
clouds, He comes, he comes, prepare his way before him ! 
Then a child appeared in the temple, with no outward to- 
ken of power, yet all eyes were instinctively turned upon 
him. He seemed a child above his years, — he grew and 
increased in favor ; he asked no honor, yet all looked upon 
him as a being hastening to a wondrous destiny. Look 
now, said the Angel, on the Prince of darkness. I looked, 
and lo, he was writhing in his wrath j his eye was fixed 
on the heavenly child with a terrific glare of hatred and 
envy ; he foamed, he gnashed his teeth. Then suddenly 
calming his agitation, he leaped from his throne, assumed 
the appearance of a shepherd, approached the child 
(now, however, become a man in the full vigor of life; for 
my good Genius, with a pass of her wand, shifted the 
scene from year to year), and with mock humility and 
guileful reverence, bowed as to a kingly power, though 
receiving but a frown of scorn in return, then led him 
away into a lonely wild, where he attempted to win his al- 
legiance by promises of worldly honor. But the youthful 
being, strong in the panoply of virtue, indignantly 
spurned him from his presence, and in another instant he 
was again sitting on his throne, his visage marred with 
tenfold greater deformities, and an angry cloud gathering 
around his head. He sent his emissaries out to work the 
man's destruction. They endeavored to ensnare him in 
his words, or condemn him by his law, but in vain ; he 
walked among men as a God; he did good wherever 
he came : but the clouds gathered again; the air became 
18 



206 REVERIE IN 

denser and darker ; I felt the angel by my side tremble 
with agitation; the minions of darkness rushed on the 
heavenly stranger, and slew him in their wrath. Then 
the heavens were blackened again ; the earth trembled 
exceedingly, and the Devil and his angels sent up a shout 
that rang through the vaulted sky. I turned in terror to 
my guide, and perceived a tear-drop trembling in her eye. 
Tell me, said I, what meaneth this fearful scene. Alas, 
said she, the Powers of darkness are again triumphant. 
They have slain the Son of God, who came to redeem the 
world. But look again ; old things have passed away, be- 
hold all things have become new. 

I looked. A sepulchre hewn in the living rock, and 
women weeping thereby. The world was a universal 
ruin ; man was palsied with astonishment and trembled 
with fear. A stream of lightning shot from the upper 
heavens, and a thunderbolt rocked the earth's foundations. 
An Angel stood by the sepulchre, — the stone was rolled 
away without hands, and the heavenly stranger of the 
former scene came forth from the grave, clad in the robes 
of eternal righteousness and crowned with a wreath of 
immortality. His countenance beamed with celestial 
love, and a sceptre of gold was in his hand. Satan reeled 
for a moment on his throne, and then was hurled to the 
ground. He slunk away in his shame and wrath, and 
called his legions off. The clouds of heaven now floated 
away, and a brighter day beamed down from above, but 
yet the sky was dull and gray, and the fullness of light 
did not return. The favored city was gone, and its 
people were dispersed. Gems of still greater value were 
now deposited from time to time in the sacred casket 
by men whose mission was from on high, not to a single 
city alone, but to the race of man at large. The earth 
now yielded her fruits ; thorns and brambles amid the ap- 
ple groves, and tares amid the corn. 

I turned to the Angel at my side. A smile of joy 
illumined her face, and a flush of triumph played across 
her brow. Behold, said she, he is risen ; he hath gained 
the victory; he hath conquered the Evil one; he hath 
led captivity captive, and given gifts unto men. Mortal, 
look once more; another scene awaits thee. 



PERE LA CHAISE. 207 

She waved her wand and the valley was filled with 
a populous city, gay and exceeding beautiful. Palaces 
and towers rose on every hand, spires shot upward from 
numerous temples j the din of labor and the hum of 
pleasure came floating up from the rushing crowds; a 
feverish happiness seemed to pervade the race of man ; 
but the same wan and sickly light came from above. 

I perceived amid the crowds of the city two forms of 
celestial beauty, who ever mingled with their rulers, and 
were present in the assemblies of her leading men. The 
one was staid and dignified ; her hair was lined with 
a silvery thread, her cheek had lost the freshness of 
youth, but her eye flashed a ray of living fire ; her form 
was vigorous and strong; health glowed in her ruddy 
countenance, and she was in the very prime of woman- 
hood. Her robes were plain and exquisitely neat ; she 
wore a sprig of laurel in her hair, and a dazzling gem 
upon her breast; she carried a plummet in her hand, 
and a measuring line loosely thrown around her neck. 

Her sister, more youthful in appearance, but no less 
dignified in demeanor, was in the full bloom of youth and 
beauty; she trod with a light and airy step ; her eye 
rested with a keen and piercing glance on whatever 
caught her notice; she carried an optical tube in her 
hand, and a scroll suspended by her side, on which 
the compass and quadrant were engraven ; her girdle was 
set with starry gems ; her vesture reflected the light of 
the sun, and a rose wreath bound her golden hair. 

They were generally seen together. They carried 
themselves with the air of Queens ; their mien was state- 
ly, and somewhat reserved ; ever demanding respectful 
approach, and sternly repelling familiarity. Their jewels 
illumined the city with a mild and beautiful light, less 
pure than the beam that descended from Heaven, but 
often mistaken by men for the same. Blinded by the 
glare of the double illumination, they often saw in the 
flickering light a dim and shadowy phantom waving before 
their bewildered eyes, and eagerly seizing it as a reality, 
mistaking the semblance for the substance, were led into 
frequent delusion. 



208 REVERIE IN 

Turning to the Ansel at my side, I inquired with won- 
der, Tell me, I beseech thee, who are those two fair forms 
that mingle with the children of men ; what is that light 
they shed around them, which seems in harmony with 
the beam from Heaven, for methinks it is of a kindred 
nature, yet at times deceiving those whom it seems to aid ? 
The beings thou seest, she replied, are the sisters Science 
and Art. The elder in appearance is Art. She has long 
made her dwelling with men, and instructed them in their 
labors. Science was long rejected, and men refused to 
receive her. But they have now become enamored of 
her light, and often mistake it for the light of religion. 
She points him ever to the truth ; she ever leads the 
way. But man, rashly presuming that her light alone is 
sufficient, often trusts to his own reasoning powers, guided 
by her ray, and she then becomes a delusive light, that 
leads him but to bewilder, and dazzles him but to blind. 
But look now at the place where thou standest ; a change 
will speedily appear. 

I looked. The place where we stood was a place of 
graves. Around me were the silent myriads of many 
generations sleeping in the deep repose of death. Thou 
seest, said the angel, the final earthly resting place of 
man. Thither all the generations of thy kindred have 
gone ; thither thy brethren and thyself are hastening. 
But this is not the ultimate end of all ; a higher destiny 
awaits you. The inmates of these silent tombs, the busy 
throngs of yonder city^ must yet be mingled in another 
scene. Dost thou not perceive a change already ? I saw 
and behold a thrill of terror and a hush of mighty expec- 
tation fell on all mankind. The pallor of fear and the 
quiver of intense excitement were visible on every lip ; 
the shadow of some coming great event seemed thrown, 
like a sombre pall, on the face of nature ; the sky became 
more serene ; and the winds were lulled to a perfect calm. 

Behold, said my Instructress, the course of time has 
nearly run its round, and nature trembles to its final end. 
As she spoke a meteor shot athwart the heavens. An 
angel stood above the city and sounded a golden trumpet. 
I felt a trembling beneath my feet, and heard a rustling 



PERE LA CHAISE. 209 

among the leaves. The dead were rising from their 
graves, and myriads crowded the lonely field. I turned 
to my guide and trembled with amazement. She pointed 
to the east, while her countenance beamed with a smile of 
joy. Look, said she, how glorious! I looked, and lo, the 
eastern horizon was on fire with a heavenly flame. The 
sombre pall that had veiled the sky was lifted and rolled 
together, and a burning light was rising to view like the 
dawn of an immortal day, and driving the clouds of wrath 
before it in dark and tempestuous folds. As the mantle 
of clouds arose in the heavens, the air became thick and 
heavy, and lo, the form of the Devil was seen retreating 
in front of the storm. Terror and amazement were in his 
eye ; he fled from the power of a conquering foe ; he 
looked behind him with trembling fear ; he was pursued 
with lightnings and scarred with thunders ; and all his 
hellish hosts about him were flying in dire confusion. 
Men trembled and shrank from the coming storm, they 
called on the hills and mountains to cover them. But in 
vain, no shelter could be found. The tempest came upon 
us in its fury; a whirlwind of omnipotent wrath. Men 
were caught in the eddying blast, and driven away like 
chaff from the summer threshing floor. It struck me 
and I trembled. I strove to stand but in vain : I stag- 
gered and was about to fall, but the angel caught me by 
the hand, and supported me till the storm was overpast. 

What a scene was then before me! The heavens were 
clear as crystal, and a light fell from above bright as the 
early day of Eden. The city was cleansed of all pollu- 
tions, and the people that remained were filled with wonder 
and with joy. The storm swept on to the westward, and 
the retiring cloud was spanned with a radiant bow. 

A host of angels now came flying from the east, their 
wings glittering with celestial hues. They descended 
and alighted at the entrance of the city, and lo, the chariot 
of the King eternal was seen approaching from afar. It 
was wrought of wreathen flame ; a rainbow canopied it 
o'er ; rubies and sapphires enamelled its borders ; its floor 
was inlaid with jasper and diamond; its pathway was 
paved with iron, and the sound of its wheels was like the 
19* 



210 KEVERIE IN 

rumblings of mighty thunders. The steed was a war 
horse noble and powerful. His sinews were of iron and 
steel, the voice of his neighings resounded through the 
mountains, his speed was the speed of the whirlwind, and 
the clang of his hoofs was terrible ; he had wings like 
wisps of vapor, a flame issued out of his mouth, light- 
nings flashed from his glaring eye, sparkles of fire played 
around his head, and a pillar of cloud stood above him. 

All men hastened to receive their Sovereign, and as he 
approached they greeted him with a triumphant shout of 
joy. He now ascended his throne of beaten gold wrought 
with vines and gems ; and I looked, and lo it was he whom 
I had seen slain by the minions of darkness, and come 
forth again from the tomb crowned with a wreath of im- 
mortality. He now wore a robe of purple, an azure girdle 
encircled his loins, in his hand was a sceptre of olive and 
amaranth, on his breast a jewel of celestial lustre engraven 
with mystic characters, and on his brow a diadem of gold 
inwrought with sparkling gems of amber, and encircled 
with a wreath of the Lily of the Valley entwined with 
the Roses of Sharon. His government was peace; the 
law of his kingdom was love. Science and Art were his 
handmaids, Reason and Virtue his ministers. Men now 
communed together saying, What gift shall we offer to our 
king, for all that we have is too poor. The most precious 
gift in our power is the casket of jewels ; let us offer it 
for his footstool. So they took it and offered it. He re- 
ceived it with a smile of celestial love, and bestowed in 
return on each of his subjects a stone of heavenly lustre, 
engraven with a new name, more precious than all the 
jewels combined. 

I turned to the Angel, entranced in wonder and in joy. 
She clasped her hands on her breast, bowed to him that 
sat on the throne, and bade me follow her example. I 
obeyed, and a hymn of praise burst forth from ten thousand 
tongues, saying, Worthy is the Lamb, for he was slain for 
us. When the music of the anthem ceased I turned 
again to the Angel, and said with deep emotion, Tell me, 
I beseech thee, what meaneth this glorious vision ? She 
looked upon me with a smile of love ; and replied in tones 



PERE LA CHAISE. 211 

of angelic harmony, The wrath of Heaven is appeased ; 
the clouds of sin are driven away • the light of Grod's 
reconciled countenance beams once more upon the earth ; 
the city before thee is the New Jerusalem, and the King 
upon the throne is the Lord of life and glory. Thou hast 
seen the history of man pass in review before thee, and 
thou now lookest upon the new Heaven and the new 
Earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness. 

I turned to look once more upon the pleasant vision, 
but instead of the New Jerusalem, the city of Paris was 
before me, and my eye rested on the towers of Notre 
Dame, and wandered among the silent tombs of the beau- 
tiful Pere la Chaise. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

TOMB OF NAPOLEON — CITY LIGHTS FROM THE OBELISK — VIEW 
OF PARIS FROM MONTMARTRIE — VIEW OF PARIS BY LAMP- 
LIGHT — PARALLEL BETWEEN FRENCH AND ENGLISH — 
ADIEU TO PARIS. 

"Nature to thee is lavish of her store, 
Wealth showers her pearls, and Art refines them o'er." — Brown, imitated. 

" Farewell ! Thou canst not teach me to forget." — Zhakspeare. 

)HE tomb of Napoleon in the Hotel des Invalides, 
is, without exception, and beyond comparison, the 
most gorgeous I have yet seen of the shrines 
erected to the memory of the great. The view which 
greets the eye on entering is most supremely fine. The 
floor is inlaid with marble of various tints in tasteful 
patterns, and a heavy circular railing of snow-white marble 
surrounds a large opening in the centre. The lofty dome, 
which is one of the most sumptuous structures of the 
seventeenth century, is gorgeously ornamented with gild- 
ing and painting, and encircled with a series of windows 
filled with light blue glass. In the spandrils formed by 
the meeting of the several arches supporting the dome, 




212 TOMB OF NAPOLEON. 

are beautiful paintings eacli surrounded by a single line 
of gilding, waved and checkered with elegant design, like 
a tasteful frame to the picture. 

Beyond the circular balustrade at the further side of 
the dome stands the altar. But who shall describe its 
gorgeous splendor ? A flight of marble steps leads up to 
a platform, on which stand four spiral pillars of clouded 
marble, most exquisitely polished, from the capitals of 
which spring diagonal waving arches, supporting in the 
centre, at the point of intersection, a ball, an eagle and a 
cross, while on a beam on the capitals of the two front 
pillars, sit two cherubim holding between them a wreath 
and scroll. Within the quadrangle formed by these four 
pillars, stands a cross on which is suspended the figure of 
Christ. This cross and image, with the arches, and all 
above the capitals are gilt and look like solid gold. The 
side-lights of this altar are of deep yellow glass. 

The day was very cloudy, but just as I entered a sun- 
beam broke through an opening in the cloud, and poured 
such a flood of glory over this scene of dazzling magnifi- 
cence, that the eye could scarce endure the glare. The 
golden light, streaming through the altar windows on the 
gorgeous marble and gilded decorations of that superb 
apartment, and the delicate azure tint which the windows 
in the base of the dome, mingled with the glittering white- 
ness of the polished marble walls and sculptured ornaments 
of the great rotunda, produced an effect similar to what 
the poets feign, in the gem-sprinkled homes of the Genii, 
amid the coral caves of the ocean. 

On going to the circular railing in the centre, we get a 
view of the tomb itself of Napoleon, an immense block of 
red porphyry, resting on the sarcophagus — a block of the 
same material ; which again rests on a bed of green gran- 
ite. On the floor around the tomb is drawn a circle, on 
the circumference of which are inscribed the names of 
twelve of his most noted victories; these are again encir- 
cled by a wreath of green laurel, outside of which again 
is another circle, from which, as a base, spring long taper- 
ing rays of yellow and deep orange. The points of these 
rays touch the base of a platform of small elevation, which 



CITY LIGHTS FROM THE OBELISK. 213 

serves as a pedestal for twelve marble pillars supporting the 
floor where we stand. In front of the pillars stand colos- 
sal caryatidse, with scepters and garlands in their hands. 
In each alternate interval between these statues, is a staff 
bearing the flags taken from the various nations that 
opposed his ambition. Outside of these pillars runs a 
circular gallery adorned with statuary. A stairway leads 
down to the entrance of the crypt, which is closed to 
the common visitor. 

It is a resting place fit for a man who has diffused 
peace and happiness over the world, rather than a demon 
who has scattered desolation and havoc in the frenzy of 
his mad career. 

During the dark evenings I frequently lingered near 
the Obelisk of Luxor, to admire the splendor of the city 
lights. The extensive area of the Place de Concord and 
the Champs Elysees, sparkled with myriads of lamps, — 
they streamed along this noble promenade to the mighty 
triumphal arch de l'Etiole, like two chains of fiery splen- 
dor, — on the right, up the Rue Royale, they stretched 
away to the Madeline, whose lofty columns were faintly 
visible in their feeble glare, — on the left they ran across 
the Pont* du Concord, and glistened on the Legislative 
Hall, — to the north the lights of the Tuilleries and the 
splendid luminaries of the Rue de Rivoli beamed out 
with a dazzling radiance, while hundreds of carriages 
and omnibuses, carrying lamps, were playing through the 
streets — on every hand thousands upon thousands of 
lights of every hue were sparkling in the gloom of night, 
thrown into beautiful and fantastic groups by the effect of 
perspective, twinkling and flashing as the myriads of pas- 
sengers hid them from view for an instant, and forming a 
scene of animated beauty, that detained me long in silent 
admiration. 

On a hazy Sabbath morning I visited the Madeline, 
and sat awhile amid the crowd of votaries at the shrine 
of the Mass, but was untouched by the solemn fooleries, — 
my mind was engaged in admiring the glories of the arch- 

*Pont, bridge. 



214 BIRD'S-EYE- VIEW OF PARIS. 

itecture and the splendid decorations of that superb tem- 
ple. I then strolled through the Gardens of the Louvre, 
and finally made part of the circuit of the city walls, 
which rise in terraces on the inner side, beautifully sodded 
and kept in the neatest repair. It is proposed to convert 
them into one long and brilliant flower garden, — then 
will Paris be indeed a singular phenomenon on the face 
of the earth, — a city girdled with a zone of flowers, — a 
distinction worthy of this gay and tasteful capital. 

I then climbed the hill of Montmartrie to have a birds- 
eye-view of the city. I was delighted to find the fog 
gradually clearing away, and the sun shining brightly on 
some parts of the landscape. I sat down in a comfortable 
place to watch the gradual shifting of the scene. The 
day was warm and pleasant, and a gentle breeze was play- 
ing around, slowly shifting the curtain of vapor that hung 
suspended over the valley, and discovering the beautiful 
city reposing in all its magnificence in that delightful 
basin. My seat is at the extreme northern limit of the 
town : the city lies like a map before me : every building 
of note is distinctly visible. The Paris basin is an oval 
about four miles by five, and perhaps the number of hu- 
man beings reposing in their dwellings, or pouring through 
its beating arteries on this lovely Sabbath afternoon, 
is not less than fifteen hundred thousand. 

The scene now before me has been burning in my fancy 
from a child, with scarce a hope of ever seeing it realized, 
and now behold the city of Paris is before me, rising as it 
were like an exhalation, slightly obscured by the hazy mists 
of the Seine, but glowing in a brilliant sunshine; like a gar- 
land of gems on the golden crown of France. On a 
broad flat beneath me, thousands of people are enjoying 
the evening air, sauntering slowly about, sitting in pic- 
turesque groups, or collected around different points of at- 
traction, — a swing, a cake stand, a party of youngsters 
playing football, and last and least, a telescope, which 
stands almost deserted. 

I lingered till darkness closed around to see the city by 
lamplight. The fairy vision gradually faded away, as the 
shades of evening fell upon it, and the more distant 
parts were soon lost to view and seemingly blended with 



THE ENGLISH AND FRENCH. 215 

the surrounding battlement of hills. The curtain of dark- 
ness gradually crept over the beautiful scene, hiding dome 
after dome and tower after tower in the folds of its som- 
bre pall, till the great Paris basin was blotted from view, 
and appeared with its untold wealth and immensity of 
life to be but a blank vacuity. But while this change 
was progressing, myriads of lights were springing out of 
the darkness, and sparkled in the surrounding gloom, till 
hundreds of thousands were glimmering like brilliant 
diamonds, and the sky above assumed a very perceptible 
glow. The city lay in the blackness of night, or sparkled 
with myriads of stars, according as the lamps were hid or 
revealed by the surrounding objects, while a faint line of 
the finest sparkles illumined the brow of the hill on the 
opposite side of the valley, and gleamed along the 
thoroughfares whose course lay open to my view. 

Whilst mingling among the life and gaiety of Paris in 
their favorite resorts, in her gardens and her parks, and 
along her lovely boulevards, I have endeavored to observe 
countenances with some attention, and should judge the 
French are generally an honest and intelligent people; 
though unable to converse with them, there is something 
in their character and appearance that favorably impresses 
me. In general external appearance they certainly 
compare favorably with the English. The French have 
more animation in their countenances, the English more 
of the Johnny Bull. But while the English persever- 
ance is apt to degenerate into stubbornness, the French 
vivacity very often evaporates with a series of slight oppo- 
sitions. 

The character of the two nations is shadowed forth in 
no very faint manner, in the appearance of their respect- 
ive capitals. London, heavy and massive in its architec- 
ture, its buildings of that peculiar character which gives 
the appearance of increased strength and solidity, even to 
stone itself, seems to be built for eternity, — seems not to 
be imbued with the elements of decay, but destined 
to stand unscathed by the devouring ravages of time, till 
the thousand years of Millenium are ended. Paris, built 
of the same material, but of a much lighter color, is all 
airy and graceful, seemingly more transient in its nature, 



214 bird's-eye-view of paris. 

itecture and the splendid decorations of that superb tem- 
ple. I then strolled through the Gardens of the Louvre, 
and finally made part of the circuit of the city walls, 
which rise in terraces on the inner side, beautifully sodded 
and kept in the neatest repair. It is proposed to convert 
them into one long and brilliant flower garden, — then 
will Paris be indeed a singular phenomenon on the face 
of the earth, — a city girdled with a zone of flowers, — a 
distinction worthy of this gay and tasteful capital. 

I then climbed the hill of Montmartrie to have a birds- 
eye-view of the city. I was delighted to find the fog 
gradually clearing away, and the sun shining brightly on 
some parts of the landscape. I sat down in a comfortable 
place to watch the gradual shifting of the scene. The 
day was warm and pleasant, and a gentle breeze was play- 
ing around, slowly shifting the curtain of vapor that hung 
suspended over the valley, and discovering the beautiful 
city reposing in all its magnificence in that delightful 
basin. My seat is at the extreme northern limit of the 
town : the city lies like a map before me : every building 
of note is distinctly visible. The Paris basin is an oval 
about four miles by five, and perhaps the number of hu- 
man beings reposing in their dwellings, or pouring through 
its beating arteries on this lovely Sabbath afternoon, 
is not less than fifteen hundred thousand. 

The scene now before me has been burning in my fancy 
from a child, with scarce a hope of ever seeing it realized, 
and now behold the city of Paris is before me, rising as it 
were like an exhalation, slightly obscured by the hazy mists 
of the Seine, but glowing in a brilliant sunshine; like a gar- 
land of gems on the golden crown of France. On a 
broad flat beneath me, thousands of people are enjoying 
the evening air, sauntering slowly about, sitting in pic- 
turesque groups, or collected around different points of at- 
traction, — a swing, a cake stand, a party of youngsters 
playing football, and last and least, a telescope, which 
gtands almost deserted. 

I lingered till darkness closed around to see the city by 
lamplight. The fairy vision gradually faded away, as the 
shades of evening fell upon it, and the more distant 
parts were soon lost to view and seemingly blended with 



THE ENGLISH AND FRENCH. 215 

the surrounding battlement of hills. The curtain of dark- 
ness gradually crept over the beautiful scene, hiding dome 
after dome and tower after tower in the folds of its som- 
bre pall, till the great Paris basin was blotted from view, 
and appeared with its untold wealth and immensity of 
life to be but a blank vacuity. But while this change 
was progressing, myriads of lights were springing out of 
the darkness, and sparkled in the surrounding gloom, till 
hundreds of thousands were glimmering like brilliant 
diamonds, and the sky above assumed a very perceptible 
glow. The city lay in the blackness of night, or sparkled 
with myriads of stars, according as the lamps were hid or 
revealed by the surrounding objects, while a faint line of 
the finest sparkles illumined the brow of the hill on the 
opposite side of the valley, and gleamed along the 
thoroughfares whose course lay open to my view. 

Whilst mingling among the life and gaiety of Paris in 
their favorite resorts, in her gardens and her parks, and 
along her lovely boulevards, I have endeavored to observe 
countenances with some attention, and should judge the 
French are generally an honest and intelligent people; 
though unable to converse with them, there is something 
in their character and appearance that favorably impresses 
me. In general external appearance they certainly 
compare favorably with the English. The French have 
more animation in their countenances, the English more 
of the Johnny Bull. But while the English persever- 
ance is apt to degenerate into stubbornness, the French 
vivacity very often evaporates with a series of slight oppo- 
sitions. 

The character of the two nations is shadowed forth in 
no very faint manner, in the appearance of their respect- 
ive capitals. London, heavy and massive in its architec- 
ture, its buildings of that peculiar character which gives 
the appearance of increased strength and solidity, even to 
stone itself, seems to be built for eternity, — seems not to 
be imbued with the elements of decay, but destined 
to stand unscathed by the devouring ravages of time, till 
the thousand years of Millenium are ended. Paris, built 
of the same material, but of a much lighter color, is all 
airy and graceful; seemingly more transient in its nature, 



218 PALACE AND PARK OF VERSAILLES. 

aught I knew, showed me the secretary of Napoleon, 
which is very plain, also his bed and chairs, most gorgeous- 
ly ornamented. Satin, flowered and tinted, and silk cur- 
tains, bright and beautiful, were enough to charm to re- 
pose the mind and body of the grim old Warrior, even af- 
ter the fatal day of Waterloo, had they been transported 
to his prison halls on the distant shores of St. Helena. 
The Park around the Palace is a pleasure ground of most 
elaborate ornament, and the Forest offers some views of 
unrivalled beauty from elevated points. 

At Versailles, a few miles from Paris, is the finest 
Park and one of the most elegant Palaces of France. A 
wide avenue, bordered with trees and intersected with 
walks, leads up to the front of the Palace, which is an 
assemblage of different styles and different ages, totally 
devoid of any unity of" design. A wing on each side 
projects far into the foreground, forming a wide open 
court, enclosed by successive buildings, and falling 
further and further back, as wing after wing contracts on 
either side. It is paved with stones and enclosed by a 
beautiful iron palisade. In the centre stands a colossal 
equestrian statue of Louis XIV. 

The Palace, which was built from age to age by several 
successive kings, but whose completion and ultimate or- 
nament was the great work of Louis XIV. stands on an 
eminence from which the ground falls in every direction. 
On the Park side, terrace after terrace drops gradually 
down to the general level of the gardens. From the 
main parterre a flight of over a hundred marble steps 
leads down to the second. I rambled through the mag- 
nificent Park, with its gardens of unequalled beauty. 
They are extensive, as they are expensive. The great 
Park is sixty miles in circuit, and the entire cost is esti- 
mated at a thousand millions of francs. 

The gardens are laid out in exquisite taste, ornamented 
with a profusion of statuary, checkered with gravel walks, 
and enlivened with arbors of brilliant flowers and beds of 
lovely green. Fountains of the most elaborate workman- 
ship and beautiful designs, alternate at intervals with 
gaudy flowering trees, and evergreens growing in native 



STATUE OF JOAN OF ARC. 219 

luxuriance, or trimmed in regular geometric figures, with 
statues, vases and marble groups ; while beyond this de- 
lightful garden view, is a range of woodland, laid out 
in broad avenues or shady walks, with artificial ruins and 
wild rocky caverns ; in the midst of which and directly in 
front of the Palace, a wide canal stretches away in the 
distance, where pleasure barges float and the gay gondola 
flashes in the sun — cottages peep out from among the 
trees, statues repose in cool shady nooks, and the cheer- 
ful song of birds resounds through the fragrant groves, 
while the noble Palace, with its long Ionic front, forms 
an appropriate border for this beautiful picture of min- 
gled nature and art. 

This immense building is entirely occupied with a vast 
collection of paintings and a gallery of statuary. Enter- 
ing at one of the wings, you go winding about, up stairs 
and down, through a labyrinth of sumptuous apartments 
constantly surrounded by the choicest productions of the 
pencil, till you are bewildered with the intricate windings, 
and baffled to select any ebject of peculiar merit, where 
all are so supremely fine. The combined length of the 
galleries is perhaps over two miles. 

A few of the sculptures, of which the collection is not 
large, strongly arrested my attention. A statue of Charle- 
magne, and one of Charles M artel, — the first one of the 
greatest monarchs that ever filled a throne, — and the last 
the deliverer of Europe from the benumbing influence of 
the Saracens, arresting their progress, and setting bounds 
to their empire at the decisive battle of Tours; — and a 
lovely statue of Joan of Arc, who stayed the devastating 
progress of the English arms when invading France, 
effectually driving them out of the realm and saving her 
King and his army from destruction, and her country 
from conquest, are perhaps the gems of the collection. 
This last is peculiarly fine. She stands in an attitude of 
deep contemplation, with her arms folded, clasping a 
sword, and her head drooping upon her breast; — her ex- 
pressive features are beautiful and regular, — her hair is 
neatly tied in a knot, instead of flowing in ringlets over 
her shoulders, and the whole figure bespeaks one of 



220 PERFECTION OF LANDSCAPE PAINTING. 

the leading spirits of human nature, meditating some 
great design with meek but stern resolve. 

The state apartments are thrown open to the public. 
In many of these the perfection of workmanship and 
splendor of design are truly worthy of a royal residence. 
The chapel is a most gorgeous apartment, the high 
arched ceiling, covered with gilding and carving, and the 
pillared and paneled walls, are its most prominent deco- 
rations. The altar piece is a beautiful marble group, rep- 
resenting the ascension of Mary Magdalene in the arms 
of two archangels. 

The paintings are mostly historical, and may be said to 
tell the story of the French empire from the times of 
Pharamond down to the present, in a series of hieroglyph- 
ics of most elaborate execution. Some of the landscapes 
connected with the battle scenes, especially those of Se- 
bastopol, Solferino and Magenta, perhaps have never 
been excelled. By looking attentively upon them, keep- 
ing the eye screened from the surrounding light, the 
whole picture springs out into, the most wonderful per- 
spective, the aerial distances assume their natural trans- 
parency and the sky its proper curvature; — the lights 
and shades blend into solid forms, and the tints become 
mellowed and softened as the objects recede in the dis- 
tance ; the trees seem to wave and the clouds to float on 
the wings of an imaginary breeze, till the canvas gradually 
melts away, the painting disappears, and the picture 
frame becomes a window casement, through which you 
look, as in a wizard's mirror, on a real landscape of 
nature. 




WINDSOR. 221 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

WINDSOR CASTLE — MANCHESTER — HUDDERSFIELD ENGLISH 

PEASANTRY — THEIR LANGUAGE ADVENTURE WITH A 

YORKSHIREMAN — TOWN HALL OF LEEDS — CATHEDRAL 
OF ELY — CAMBRIDGE — OXFORD — ADDISON'S WALK. 

"The bliss of man could pride that blessing find, 
Is not to think or act beyond mankind."— Pope. 

*'An arrow aimed at the noonday sun will describe a more lofty flight 
than if leveled at the horizon." — Persian Proverb. 

)ETURNINGr to England, I made a cursory tour to 
many of her most noted localities. On the bank 
i>W& of the Thames, about twenty miles above Lon- 
don, is the town of Windsor. The glorious old Castle at 
this place is a relic of hoary antiquity. William the Con- 
queror laid its foundations and erected a fortress here, 
which was enlarged by Heniy I. who made it his royal 
residence. Edward III. greatly enlarged and improved 
the original plan, and raised it to something like its 
present magnificence. 

Windsor Castle, one of the favorite residences of the 
Queen, crowns the brow of a hill just outside the town. 
From the angles rise heavy circular turrets of massive 
masonry, and at intervals along the sides square or octan- 
gular battlements overtop the walls, narrow loopholes and 
ports, mounted with heavy guns, break the stern monoto- 
ny of its grim exterior, and the national colors are flung 
to the breeze from the top of its great Round Tower, 
whose lofty summit looks down in frowning grandeur on 
the wide area of a dozen counties. 

A splendid Park lays back of the Castle, in which an 
avenue of oaks borders a gravel road three miles in 
length, and fountains and statues deck the pleasure 
grounds with all that profusion of ornament which the 
most exuberant fancy could desire. This park covers 
a wooded surface of over three thousand acres, and the 
little park of five hundred acres, lying just around the 
castle, is especially interesting as the scene of the 
19* 



222 MANCHESTER. 

midnight revels depicted by Shakspeare in his Merry 
Wives of Windsor. 

The city of Manchester is one of the great centres of 
population in England, and one of the greatest manufac- 
turing places of the world. Over four hundred thousand 
people derive their subsistence directly or indirectly from 
the manufacturing interests of the place. Cotton reigns 
as supremely here as in South Carolina. Free Trade 
Hall is a fine building that may well compare with any 
similar structure, and is but little less capacious than the 
famous Exeter Hall of London. The Infirmary is an honor 
to the charitable element of the age, and the grand 
old Cathedral is a hoary relic of the long ago. Shudehill 
market is one of the most extensive in England. The 
market house is merely an enormous canopy of glass, 
supported by a forest of light and elegant iron pillars, 
and crowded with marketing and merchandize of every 
description. The throng in this place on a Saturday 
evening is fearful, and the scene most animated and 
impressive. Hundreds of gas lamps throw down a flood of 
light on the surging masses of human beings below, — the 
endless perspective of pillars dwindling down to mere 
wands, and the reflection from the crystalline canopy 
above, form a scene which is perhaps no faint image 
of the far-famed Bazars of the East. 

I walked out on the high grounds above the town of 
Huddersfield and had an extensive view of a landscape 
presenting the true English characteristics of commons 
covered with heath and bracken, alternating with fields 
enclosed in stone walls and hedges, and a beautiful grove 
of evergreens offered a delightful walk, in which I in- 
dulged without inquiring into the trespass laws of the 
land. 

During this walk I had an opportunity of testing my 
powers in the Yorkshire dialect. The English, with their 
accustomed arrogance, speak of our Americanisms with 
all due ridicule and appropriate contempt; — contrasting 
their own elegant idioms with our untelligible jargon, and 
scouting the nasal twang of our Yankee cousins, and the 
primitive accent of our Kentucky backwoodsman, beyond 



ENGLISH DIALECTS. 223 

the pale of the English language, whilst in their own 
country the laborers of one locality are sometimes utterly 
unable to converse with those who reside a dozen miles 
away. Throughout the country the dialect changes with 
every change of place, not always indeed to any great ex- 
tent, but often sufficient to be noticed by the stranger. 
Their peasantry, like mushrooms, grow up in a certain 
fixed locality, — they play, love, labor, and die, on a little 
spot of ground, little knowing, and little recking that a 
vast busy world surges and bustles around them, of which 
they are totally unknown and unrecognized elements. Ac- 
customed to the society of their own immediate neighbors, 
and of them alone, they adopt the system of sounds to 
which their infant ears are accustomed, — they pursue the 
beaten track, which is dusty with the crowded travel of a 
thousand years, — never associating with those who have 
seen different customs or heard a different language, they 
know not that the world contains a better. They long 
ago arrived at a certain definite stage of progress, (?) 
where they have stood almost as immovable as the Chinese 
or the Hindoos. Their superiors have not troubled them- 
selves to scatter the seeds of intelligence among them, or 
improve their social condition. What right has the la- 
borer to enjoy the comforts of refinement, or the blessings 
of education 't His proper sphere is that of absolute in- 
feriority, and he would be trenching on the sacred rights 
of his lordly superiors, could he thrust his sun-browned 
visage into the arena of intelligent discussion, or sully with 
his toil-worn hands the silken cords of state. 

The great amount of travel on the rail roads is slowly 
and gradually changing these things, but still it remains 
to be a stubborn fact that the peasantry of the adjoining 
counties of York and Lancaster cannot converse with each 
other, and he who speaks only the English tongue cannot 
talk with either j — so different is their language, or rather 
their jargon, that in some cases they can hold no further 
conversation than a Dutchman and a Kangaroo — Kamt- 
schatdale I mean. Well, I had heard of all this, but did not 
believe it possible. I had been told that I could not talk 
with a genuine Yorkshireman ; — and drawing myself up 



224 ADVENTURE WITH A YORKSHIRE MAN. 

to my full height, with a feeling akin to insulted dignity, 
had replied rather arrogantly, I can talk with any one 
who speaks the English language. 

In my walk this morning I saw an elderly man coming 
down the path to meet me, and took it into my head to 
prove the utter falsity of all such foul aspersions of ignor- 
ance, and rise triumphant above the base accusation of 
not being able to talk in my mother tongue. So I accosted 
him with a pleasant good morning, and a compliment to 
the beauty of their country. He replied in a jargon as 
intelligible as the cackling of a hen ; — more, however, 
like the low, grating monotonous growl of ungreased ma- 
chinery. I made some further remark, and he again res- 
ponded ditto. Somewhat taken aback, I faltered for a 
moment, but rallying my scattering forces, I made another 
effort. A string of gutterals was poured forth in reply, 
that again discomfited me. Not easily discouraged, I tried 
again and again, and was always met with the same cool, 
heartless jabber ; till finally, after at least ten minutes of 
valiant effort on my part, I was forced to yield to superior 
brass, and abandon the unequal struggle. I turned and 
fairly run away, — completely and forever cured of all am- 
bition to hold converse with the hardy, unrelenting York- 
shire boor. I suppose he understood me and followed my 
remarks, but during our whole conversation I only suc- 
ceeded in catching one word, which sounded rather pro- 
vokingly like dunce ; but supposed he used it, of course, 
as the representative of quite a different idea from that 
which it usually brings to my mind. 

Leeds has little to attract the notice of a stranger, ex- 
cept its magnificent Town Hall, and of this it may well 
be proud. Its external architecture far surpasses St. 
George's of Liverpool. Corinthian columns are profusely 
scattered around, acanthus capitals deck every corner, and 
a magnificent cupola of most exquisite proportions, and 
surrounded by a peristyle of twenty elegant columns, 
mounts far into the upper air; and elegant minature tow- 
era are placed at the four corners of the sloping roof, 
which rises far above the square to arch the ceiling of the 
Great Hall. The Rotunda is a model of elegance and 



OLD CATHEDRALS. 225 

splendor; a colossal statue of Queen Victoria, in fine 
marble, occupies the centre. The interior of the Hall is 
very beautiful, but the general character of the decora- 
tions is not equal to the florid magnificence of the Hall of 
the great maritime mart. 

I had a beautiful moonlight view of Ely Cathedral, 
•which, in its own peculiar features, is not surpassed by 
any in England. These old Cathedrals are ever attrac- 
tive. The relics of former ages, — each one a legacy of 
the taste and genius of its builders bequeathed to a dis- 
tant posterity, — they come down to us, charged with their 
own respective stories, and speaking in their own peculiar 
styles. They are various in ornament, order, and design, 
according to the age in which they were built, and the 
taste of their leading spirits, — but each one is venerable, 
each is a connecting link between the restless present and 
the days of auld lang syne, and as the eye wanders over 
the shadowy nave, and ranges through each dim lit aisle, 
the fancy runs backward through their vast duration, as 
on a bridge spanning the gulf of centuries, with here and 
there a pier connecting the hoary structure with the age 
that flowed beneath it ; while some of them stretch so far 
away into the times of old, that a misty cloud hangs over 
their origin, and the shores of the past to which they con- 
duct, are lost in the haze of antiquity. 

The Cathedral of Ely is a vision of beauty. As I 
looked upon it in the brilliant moonlight, I thought a 
dream had passed through the mind of some master buil- 
der of old, as he lay on the green sward beneath those 
shady elms, and the powers of enchantment had worked 
a spell upon the gorgeous ideals that floated through his 
lively fancy, whereby they were crystalized into form and 
substance as they arose to his view, and on awakening, 
he was surprised to find the realization of his beauteous 
dream, which still reveled in his mind, and, supposing it 
to be the delusive phantom that lingers in the mental eye 
during the first moments of wakefulness after a glorious 
vision, he gazed with intense emotion to catch its form 
and character e'er it vanished from his view. 

The tower is square, with a round battlement at each 



226 CATHEDRAL OP ELY. 

corner, and nine stories in height ; gradually decreasing 
in size to the top. Each story consists of a series of very 
narrow gothic arches. The interior is exquisite. The 
heavy Norman style prevails, but with no small mingling 
of the elegant and ornamental. The choir is of magnifi- 
cent finish. The altar screen is of cornelian and agate, 
superbly carved and sculptured. It is one of the most 
elaborately wrought screens in existence. In the Baptis- 
try, a vaulted stone apartment of the same Norman typ3, 
two windows are pointed out as worthy of observation ; 
each is about eight feet in height and three or four wide, 
consisting of a single light of stained glass, arched at the 
top and representing, one the Baptism of Christ, and the 
other, Suffer little children to come unto me. The ceil- 
ing is being painted by an artist of the first order, in a 
series of views representing scripture scenes from the cre- 
ation to the time of Christ. The Descent of the Holy 
Ghost, in the ceiling of the Rotunda, promises a fine effect 
when the whole shall be completed. The morning wag 
dull and cloudy, and withheld the strong contrast of light 
and shade, but the softened radiance that flowed through 
the stained glass windows, gave a beautiful effect of dim 
and elegant perspective. The choir is of superior finish, 
and the alternation of pillars of snowy white, with differ- 
ent shades of clouded marble, is enchanting. 

Cambridge is the seat of one of the great Universities 
of England. Each college has a separate court or walk 
for its students, sometimes a fine arched passage around a 
green grass plot; and a spacious park, into which most of 
the walks and play grounds open, is a public pleasure 
groand for all. How often has my fancy hovered around 
these favorite seats of learning, in all the ardor of youth- 
ful admiration, when warmed to enthusiasm by reading 
some eloquent eulogium on the talent which has been 
there developed, in the genial climate of these classic 
halls. 

At Oxford, the seat of the other great University, I 
rambled through the colleges and parks, and visited the 
spot where Cranmer, Ridley and Latimer were burned in 
1545, under the sanguinary Mary, and the martyr's me- 



addison's walk. 227 

morial, an elegant monument to their memory, placed in 
the middle of the street, close to the spot where they suf- 
fered. 

In the Bodleian Librnry, a large collection of precious 
books, is shewn a rusty old lantern, said to be the identi- 
cal lantern with which Guy Fawkes, of Gunpowder Plot 
memory, was lighting himself through the dark passages 
of the basement of the old Parliament House, where he 
was discovered lurking, ready, at the appointed time, to 
fire the fuse that was to blow the King and Parliament 
to destruction. 

In a meadow, or rather a swamp adjoining the town, 
overflowed with every heavy rain, and a scene of utter 
desolation, is a raised bank of earth bordered on either 
side with elms and oaks, and forming a beautiful walk 
through a shady avenue of trees. It is called Addison's 
walk, in honor of the great author who resided here many 
years, and is worthy, save for the wretched ground through 
which it leads, of the more than noble man whose name 
it bears. It is continued around a large enclosure, and 
returns into itself again. The river Isis flows by the 
town, on whose bank a fine walk leads to the platforms, 
where the pleasure barges lay for the accommodation of 
the pompous young nobles who attend these celebrated 
colleges. 




228 SALISBURY. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 

SALISBURY CATHEDRAL — SALISBURY PLAIN — CITY OF BATH 
— BRISTOL — ROCKS OF ST. VINCENT — GIANT'S CAVE — CAR- 
DIFF — IT'S CASTLE — WONDERFUL MASONRY — WELSH PE- 
CULIARITIES — THE GREAT EASTERN. 

"Through the shadow of the world we sweep Into the younger day; 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." — Tennyson. 

"Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth on her fair 
page."— Bryant. 

)HE city of Salisbury stands on a low flat situation, 
surrounded by hills, at the confluence of four 
rivers, the Avon, the Wiley, the Nadder, and 
the Bourne. From the adjacent hills, fine views of the 
city are obtained. The Cathedral is the chief object of 
interest, a large building standing on a beautiful green 
lawn, embosomed in the midst of lofty trees, and sur- 
rounded by a stone wall. The summit of the spire is 
four hundred and four feet above the pavement. It de- 
clines about two feet from the perpendicular, but the most 
accurate observation for two centuries can detect no in- 
crease in the declination. The church is plain and large, 
and not of very striking architecture, and a long, slim, 
tapering, octagonal spire rises from the top of a lofty tow- 
er at the intersection of the nave and transept, up each 
angle of which runs a notched hand-hold, serving the pur- 
pose cf a ladder, and offering the only means of ascent 
above the tower. 

But "Salisbury Plain" is a curiosity. It is no plain, but 
a beautiful rolling country, with a light soil and a uniform 
grass sod. It so closely resembles the Iowa prairies that 
I could scarce detect a difference between the memory of 
the past and the sight of the present. It is almost exclu- 
sively a grazing region, over which the shepherd ranges 
with enormous flocks. 

In the city of Bath is a fine old Abbey and several 
modern churches of great elegance, one especially, with a 
beautiful tower of various colored stone, stands on a hill 



BATH. — BRISTOL. 229 

north of town, from which we obtain a fine view of a 
great part of the city and a large tract of surrounding 
country. Two colleges, one a Methodist, the other an 
Episcopal, stand just beyond this church, both magnifi- 
cent buildings, and a beautiful park expands far away 
over the hill sides, and along the grassy valleys. The 
Abbey is somewhat on the plan of that of Westminster, 
but far inferior, both in size and style. Lofty towers rise 
from the intersection of the nave and transept, and seg- 
ments of arches, springing from the flying buttresses of 
the side walls, are joined to the eaves of the main roof 
and greatly add to the beauty of the whole. 

Bath is a dark, dingy looking city, with many fine 
streets however, and splendid buildings. It is situated 
in a valley at the base of a cliff, and the slope of the hill 
up which it extends gives it an agreeable peculiarity in 
the great number of fine crescents, which are formed by 
the streets as they wind up the hill sides. Many of the 
houses are of smooth stone walls, covered with smoke and 
must, and the streets have a gloomy and sombre appear- 
ance. Gay Street, however, is appropriately named. 
The splendor of its shops, its fashionable residences, and 
the throng of the better class of citizens that make it 
their promenade, place it foremost of all the streets of 
the city. It is literally a city of baths. Shower baths 
and plunge baths, hot baths and cold baths, scented baths 
and Turkish vapor baths, are advertised in flashy letters 
all over town. 

Bristol is an antique looking town, with many nar- 
row, crooked streets, obscured by projecting upper stories, 
and with but little appearance of modern neatness and 
elegance. Some particular buildings are very fine — here 
and there is an ancient church with an old fashioned 
tower, whose outer surface has crumbled away with the 
frosts and dampness of ages, till the ornaments are entirely 
obliterated j numerous modern spires rise from differ- 
ent parts of the town, and manufacturing chimneys tell of 
a prosperous business by her enterprising people. Red 
Cliff Church is the oldest in the city. Its interior is beau- 
tiful, pillared and arched, lighted with windows of stained 
20 



230 CLIFTON DOAN. 

glass, and profusely adorned with marble monuments. 
The old Cathedral is very dingy and time-worn externally, 
but light and beautiful inside. In front stands an elegant 
ornamental spire, — a central column surrounded by four 
others, rising from a pedestal, and supporting a complica- 
ted system of ornaments. 

About two miles below Bristol the Avon makes a grace- 
ful curve, breaking its way through a range of hills, 
whose bare, bleak and precipitous sides rise from three to 
four hundred feet, in some places perpendicular. An ex- 
tensive park occupies the high ground below the town, on 
the summit of this fearful cliff.* I took a path which 
leads down to the foot of the precipice, and, winding 
along the brink of the river, the scene became terrific. 
The huge adamantine walls, rising upwards, with a con- 
stantly increasing height, and greater and greater inclina- 
tion, frowned down on the chasm with frightful aspect, 
till they finally became absolutely perpendicular; while 
far overhead a graceful wire bridge spans the gloomy 
gorge like a wisp of floating vapor. This immense rocky 
rampart is fearfully sublime, — here springing up in one 
unbroken surface, there falling slightly back in rapidly 
succeeding terraces, as seam succeeded seam in tne stony 
deposit, now throwing out a bold projecting head beyond 
the general surface, and now retiring in deep and rugged 
defiles where a crevice broke into the body of the cliff, — 
here covered with little spots of smiling green, where a 
rocky ledge afforded a resting place for a small portion of 
soil that fell from the heights above, and there mantled 
with ivy, springing out of the crevices of the rock, 
whose green and brilliant foliage was mingled with the 
decaying braches of other years. Numerous jackdaws 
had taken possession of holes and clefts in the rock, 
and animated the scene by their busy activity, perching 
on the crags at a dizzy height, and making the cliffs re- 
sound with their noisy clamor ; and a group of adventur- 
ous persons was standing on the brink of the precipice 
above, protected by an iron railing, and gazing down into 

*C ailed Clifton Doan, or the Rocks of St. Vincent. 



giant's cave. 231 

the profound abyss. High up on the cliffs I noticed a 
yawning cavern in the rock, perhaps a hundred feet 
below the summit, in front of which is an iron railing 
This is the Giant's cave. 

I clambered up a zigzag path that leads to the height 
above, approached the iron railing and looked down on 
the turbid Avon. The surface of the wall below cannot 
be seen from this place, as it is perpendicular or slightly 
projecting. The spot where I stood, at the pier of the 
suspension bridge, is considerably in advance of the gen- 
eral surface of the wall, but close to my right hand a deep 
crevice fell back, beyond which the bald cliff became 
again almost perpendicular, and afforded an impressive 
view of the majestic scene. 

Some distance back from the edge of the rocks, on the 
brow of the hill, stands an observatory, rather a pretty 
building, inside of which is the opening of a passage 
which leads down through a dark, winding and rocky 
tunnel to the Giant's Cave, on the face of the cliff. The 
descent is first down a perpendicular shaft by a flight of 
steps, at the foot of which is a door to prevent the draft 
of air, which would extinguish the light. Down, down, 
down I went, along this dark and dismal passage all alone, 
with no light save a candle, which I carried, till finally a 
glimmer of daylight was visible far below me. I en- 
countered another long flight of steps, which I descended 
with extreme caution, and at the bottom found myself at 
the inner extremity of a cavern which nature had formed 
in the rock. In front was the iron railing which I had 
seen from below. I walked out to this railing beyond 
the surface of the rocks, and looked around. What 
a prospect met my view ! Perched high up on the ever- 
lasting cliffs, I was standing over a blank vacuity, the 
smooth native wall plunging down perpendicular below 
me, while above towered a precipice of living rock, which 
no mortal man could scale, and the beautiful river far be- 
low, flowed on in its silent grandeur. I was cut off from 
all possibility of rejoining the busy world, save by that 
gloomy passage that had led me hither. I retraced 
my steps, and my heart beat more freely when I stood 
once more on terra vitis. 



232 LEGEND OF THE JANITRESS. 

The town of Cardiff, in the southeastern part of Wales, 
is situated in a beautiful valley called the Taff vale. Here 
are the ruins of an old castle, dating back at least to the 
times of the first crusades. I rambled through its dingy 
apartments and turf-floored courts, and lingered among 
its broken arches, listening to a long legend of the jani- 
tress, who took a peculiar pleasure in extolling the honor 
of her venerable charge, and, inspired by the hope of a 
shilling, became more and more marvellous by degrees in 
her narration, and mounting higher and yet higher in her 
chronology as she led me through a series of dingy apart- 
ments, finally made the astounding announcement that I 
was now in the palace of the Kings of England in the 
fifteenth century, B. C, and that the old walls with which 
I was surrounded, were built at the same time as the 
Tower of Babel, — u mind yeu not at the fall, but at the 
building of the Tower of Babel." A room or cell, where 
Robert, Duke of Normandy, was confined, was specially 
dwelled upon, and the devices cut in the stone walls "by 
his own hand," commemorative of his exploits in the cru- 
sades, were pointed out with minute precision. He was 
kept here a prisoner twenty-one years, and tke walls 
of his prison — now thirty-five centuries old, according to 
the revelations of my Clio — are yet in very good con- 
dition. What masons must have flourished in those early 
times ! Yerily the old lady must have drank deeply 
of that Pierrean spring ; no shallow draft had intoxicated 
her brain; neither was there a single drop of the fatal 
Lethe water in the copious bumper in which she had 
pledged the Muses. "The Castle was a thousand years 
in building", said she; "this was the time allowed the work- 
men when the contract was made, and I would find, 
on passing around the walls, that it was none too long a 
time ; for, mind you, there is as much masonry below the 
ground as above." 

Took the evening train for Port Talbot through a 
beautiful country, with the sea occasionally on our left, 
and a few rugged hills, dignified with the name of moun- 
tains, sometimes bounding our view on the right, then the 
land would fall back in beautiful fertile plains, or a gently 



THE GREAT EASTERN. 233 

rolling surface, enlivened with picturesque Welsh cottages 
with thatched roofs, while the villages generally had an 
air of neatness and comfort; and the singular costume 
of this isolated people, inhabiting this little nook of earth, 
and keeping themselves separate and distinct from all 
others, surrounded with the very highest refinement, 
and daily hearing a language of the greatest elegance, 
harmony and strength, yet speaking a barbarous dialect, 
unknown in any other corner of the habitable world, 
— give the route a peculiar and rather romantic interest. 

From Port Talbot a beautiful walk of five miles, along 
a rugged seashore, and then up the charming valley of the 
Neath, leads you to the town of Neath, embosomed in a 
bower oY shadowy trees on a green lawn, encircled by 
a mountain rampart. From this place to Swansey, the 
road winds round the point of the semi-circular battlement 
of hills, and the view of the vale behind us, in which the 
town reposed like a fairy palace in a garden of loveliness, 
became most exquisitely fine. 

At New Milford the Great Eastern was lying on 
the gridiron, undergoing repairs from her injuries in the 
late fearful disaster off the coast of Ireland. She is now 
nearly repaired, and is advertised for New York in a few 
weeks. I lingered long around the mighty vessel. The 
tide being down, she was laying on dry ground. I walked 
all around her, passed under her keel, and had a full ex- 
amination of her exterior. I then went aboard and spent 
some hours rambling over this wonderful floating city. 
Her Grand Saloon is a most sumptuous apartment. The 
walls are divided into large panels, with gilt borders, 
edged with green, on which is traced a fine gilded line, 
and each panel contains an elegant gilded device. 
Around the top of the walls runs a large light border of 
gilding, formed of lines interlocking in circles enclosing 
a shell ; above this is a second cornice of different design. 
It is lighted by side sky-lights, and an elegant railing 
runs round the room, dividing off a small corridor on two 
sides, and giving light and access to the lower tier of 
state rooms, laying four or five feet beneath the floor of 
the saloon. The ceiling is laid out in large panels, 
20* 



234 SALOONS OF THE GREAT EASTERN. 

with heavy iron ribs serving as stays to the vessel. Each 
panel is encircled with a light border of gilding, inter- 
spersed with brilliant colors, and specked with red and 
blue on a light gray ground. 

A range of delicate iron pillars, with intervening 
arches, extends along each side ot the room, while two 
chimneys, which rise through the saloon, are converted 
into large and elegant square columns, richly decorated 
with panel work and mirrors. On the four faces are 
painted views of Alpine scenery — Wetterhorn, Isenberg, 
the Pass of Brenner, and the Pass of Glencoe. Large 
mirrors are placed opposite each other and from a point 
between them, the double and multiple reflections give 
the room the appearance of interminable length. 

Mahogany tables, cane seat chairs, and velvet sofas, 
constitute the furniture at present in the room, and at the 
ends rich purple silk-velvet curtains, worked into complex 
figures and bordered with a heavy fringe, are suspended 
and looped with silken tassels. The carpet is of a red- 
dish brown ground, with plain and simple figure. The 
doorways are elaborate gilt arches, surmounted by rich 
armorial designs in gold. Two pillars stand on each side, 
and the fine purple curtains, with their elegant fringe, 
and the beautiful figured glass panels that occupy more 
than half the length of the door, make them portals 
worthy of the Great Eastern's principal saloon. 

The Ladies' Saloon is of very much the same style 
of ornament. The- coloring and decoration are of a very 
light order, charming the eye both with their elegance 
and their splendor. There is none of that heavy massive 
work so often seen in grand apartments. Pianos stand 
against the walls, and everything is arranged in the most 
extravagant style of luxury. The dining saloon for first 
class passengers is also very fine, the decorations are on a 
similar plan with those of the Grand Saloon, but much 
plainer, and a marble sideboard with shelves for dishes, 
backed by a large mirror, stands at one end of the room. 

Her engines are masterpieces of workmanship. Four 
oscillating cylinders, each eight feet in diameter, and of 
ten feet stroke, drive the main shaft, on which her paddle 



CONWAY. 235 

wheels are hung, and her propeller is driven by four 
other engines of enormous power. She is truly a monster 
ship. Her vast bulk as she lay on the stocks, stretching 
more than an eighth of a mile in length, and rising over 
seventy feet in height when the tide is out, looks more 
like the production ot nature's giant powers than the 
work of man's puny hands. Her length is 692 feet. 




CHAPTER XXXVIII: 

CONWAY — GREEK CASTLE — CITY OE CHESTER — FOOT WALKS 

BIRMINGHAM — STEEL PEN MANUFACTORY — WARWICK 

CASTLE CHARMING GEM OF SCENERY — PARK WAR- > 

WICK VASE — SHAKSPEARE'S CLIFF — LOSS OF MY UM- 
BRELLA—HOME SICKNESS — DREAM OF HOME. 

"God made the country and man made the town." — Coicper. 

"That heart methinka 
Were of strange mould which kept no cherished print 
Of earlier happier times."— HMhouse. 

lONWAY, on the northern coast of Wales, is an 
ancient town on a most romantic site, not very 
populous, but well worth a visit from the tourist. , 
The walls are kept in good condition, and the noble castle, 
so celebrated among the lovers of the picturesque in 
scenery, is a precious relic of antiquity. Here a suspen- 
sion and a tubular bridge span the Conway river, on the 
same model as those over the Menai Strait at Bangor. 
One end of the chains of the suspension bridge is 
fastened in the castle wall, or rather the solid face of per- 
pendicular rock on which the Castle is built, and the 
towers of the bridge have turreted battlements, to corres- 
pond with those of the Castle. 

The scenery around the town is very fine. The windings 
of the river through a broad level valley, the waving 
outline of the hills, towering upward on the inland side, 
and tossing their sharp and craggy summits to .the clouds, 



236 CHESTER. 

the graceful sweep of the valleys, the ancient city walls, 
and the hoary old castle, give it a character of deep and ab- 
sorbing interest. Over the hills to the south of the town 
lies the famous mountain of Bettys y'Coyd, one of the 
most sublime scenes in North Wales. 

Near the village of Abbergale, at the base of Penman- 
niaur, stands a fine old building called the Greek Castle. 
Its noble turrets rise from the midst of a copse of green 
trees, often hiding its walls almost to the summit; behind 
it rises a gently swelling hill, which sets off its beauty to 
the greatest advantage, and in front a wide level lawn ex- 
pands to a great distance, set with ornamental trees and 
adorned with fountains and grottoes. 

The city of Chester is perhaps the finest example 
in the Kingdom of the genuine ancient town. It pre- 
serves the architecture and the city fashions of three 
hundred years ago, like a vestige of the past, lingering 
lone and solitary "amid the refinements of modern days. 
Long lines of antiquated structures, heavy frames filled 
with masonry, projecting upper stories, dormer windows, 
and double, triple and quadruple gables, give it an air of 
sombre age you will vainly endeavor to find equaled else- 
where in the western world. The Water Tower, at an 
angle of the ancient walls, was repairedin 1322, — on the 
Phoenix Tower, Charles I. stood and saw his army defeat- 
ed by the Parliament troops in 1645. Its principal 
streets, Eastgate, Watergate, Northgate, and Bridge 
Street, — its hoary old Cathedral, its ruined Castle, throw 
over it a mantle of age and honor, which challenges our 
respect and admiration. 

And where are the footwalks ? The street is bordered 
with the usual pavement, but very few persons are passing 
along them. The houses are three stories high, the low- 
er is occupied by shops and dwellings, while the second 
stories open into each other and form lengthy corridors 
from end to end of the streets ; these are the chief routes 
of pedestrian travel, the story above these thoroughfares 
again is occupied as dwellings. No tourist should fail to 
visit Chester. It is like being ushered into the presence 
• of old father Time himself. 



WARWICK. 237 

The city of Birmingham is the great mart of hard- 
ware manufacturing. It is a populous, noisy and bust- 
ling city, but save for its manufactories,, has no great at- 
traction for the transient visitor. New Street is a splendid 
thoroughfare, lined with buildings of the most superfluous 
decoration, and thronged by hurrying thousands. What 
a pity it has so ridiculous a name. 

Here I visited Gillott's steel pen manufactory, being 
kindly admitted and conducted through the works by a 
gentlemanly attendant. About five hundred operatives, 
mostly girls, are employed. Each pen is handled separate- 
ly by about twenty different persons, and the rapidity 
with which it is taken through the different processes by 
the dextrous hands of the girls is certainly very wonder- 
ful. Each girl will handle about a hundred gross a day 
as a regular task. At one stage of the process the pen is 
so brittle that a very slight touch will snap it, at another 
so very pliable, it is rolled between the fingers almost as 
easily as paper. Steam presses, cutting each a thousand 
gross per hour, are sometimes used, but hand cut pens are 
preferred. 

The town of Warwick stands in the midst of a most 
delightful country. The chief attraction is the time- 
honored castle, whose noble turrets of light colored stone 
rise from a wilderness of thick embowering trees like a 
spirit of the Past, peering out from its secluded haunts to 
catch a glimpse of the ever-stirring Present. From the 
new bridge across the Avon, a lovely little landscape is 
seen, the resort of artists who delight in exquisite scen- 
ery. The river is straight for near a quarter of a mile, 
bordered by a thicket of trees, overhanging it with their 
drooping boughs, — here and there a little nook of water 
runs back into the shady recesses of the bank, or a tuft 
of sod, enameled with daisies and violets, shoots out into 
the tranquil water ; a single arch of a ruined bridge, 
mantled with ivy and wreathed with blooming shrubbery, 
stands in the stream, entirely disconnected with the 
shore, and the beautiful white towers and time-scathed 
walls of the grand old castle, decked with flying 
buttresses and antique windows, rise from the surface of 



238 shakspeare's cliff. 

the living rock, against which the river washes, and 
making a sudden turn, is lost from the view. The beau- 
tiful castle forms a rich mellow background to this 
enchanting little gem of natural scenery. 

The Park, in which the Castle stands, is a beautiful 
place. Here the noble Cedar of Lebanon flourishes lux- 
uriantly among thick groves of the more hardy exotic 
trees. In a beautiful little summer-house in these exten- 
sive grounds is a precious relic of Grecian art, — the 
famous Warwick vase, one of the choicest productions of 
ancient sculpture. It is of marble, of the most exquisite 
form, — the handles wrought of vines that are twined to- 
gether and then blend with the body of the vase, or 
form a border around its edge, which is gracefully folded 
over it. From this girdle descends a panther's skin, 
which is lapped around the vase and falls about half way 
down the sides. It holds over one hundred gallons. 

Shakspeare's Cliff, near the town of Dover, is a high, 
precipitous bank, rising about four hundred feet imme- 
diately from the sea-shore. It is supposed to have been 
considerably higher, and to have projected far beyond 
the perpendicular in early times ; and is thought to 
be the scene in Shakspeare's mind when he painted that 
fearful picture in King Lear of the old blind monarch 
attempting to throw himself down a precipice into the 
sea. The rail road passes through a tunnel under the 
Cliff. I walked along the base at the water's edge, and 
the precipitous wall towered high above me in frowning 
grandeur. I then climed to the summit, and had a love- 
ly view of the surrounding country, — of the strait of 
Dover and the coast of France beyond. 

At the rail road station I set my umbrella close by 
my side, amid a crowd of people, while entering a note in 
my memorandum book, and when I took it up again it 
was'nt there. Some fellow, evidently not a clairvoyant, 
had snatched it. Poor man, how I pitied him! How 
his conscience must have smote him when he found 
what he had stolen, — when he attempted to raise it to the 
rain, and the broken ribs drooped helplessly around his 
rascally head,-— when the streamers fluttered in the 



HOMESICKNESS. 239 

breeze, and the flimsy muslin covering gathered up in 
beautiful wrinkles as the bows expanded ! Poor fellow ! 
He will no doubt console his wounded conscience with a 
glass of beer, and disperse his sad reflections in the 
graceful clouds of vapor from a nasty dirty pipe. So 
adieu to the old umbrella. 

And yet I regretted to part with it. It had been my 
stay and support in many a weary hour, — it had steadied 
my tottering footsteps on the rolling waves of the ocean ; 
it had sheltered me from the dripping rains of London, 
and been my constant attendant through her parks, 
her gardens and her thoroughfares j I had carried it over 
the downs of Wiltshire, to the ruins of ' Stonehenge, 
through the beautiful land of Wales, and the enchanting 
scenes of the Emerald Isle ) I had flourished it in the 
gardens of the Tuilleries, and the Parks of Versailles 
and Fontainbleau, and had intended, on returning to 
my native land, to have it converted into an ornamental 
cane and preserve it long as a memento of the scenes 
through which I had passed. 

Occasionally, though rarely, in my devious wanderings, 
a slight touch of home-sickness would steal over me. Far, 
far from home, with no one I have ever seen before, — not 
one familiar face to cheer a lonely hour; I have only the 
treasures of memory to fall back upon as a fund from 
•which to draw when the present palls upon the mind, — 
and the treasures of Hope, which glow in the future with 
a brightness that dispels all gloomy mists and illumines 
the horizon of the heart with a radiance unknown before ; 
as the endearing ties of domestic affection bind me closer 
and closer to that old familiar mansion in the daisy 
sprinkled meadow by the babbling stream, and the in- 
tense desire arises that we may yet mingle once more 
amid those cherished scenes ; no single heart-string 
broken, no discord in our melody of happiness and joy. 
During one of these periods of solemn thought, I had 
a pleasant dream of home. The mutual joy was great at 
meeting, — all the circumstances of home came fresh and 
bright before me, not in that confused, wild and discon- 
nected manner so usual in dreams. Then the thought 



240 THE "TRENT AFFAIR." 

occurred to me that it might be a dream, for I could not 
remember coming home. I found myself there with no 
connecting link between that place and England, and I 
remember fearing to do anything that might dispel the 
illusion, if such it should prove to be. But the vision 
gradually vanished away without any grotesque transi- 
tions, and I awoke, hoping e'er long to meet my friends, 
not only in the visions of the night, but in the less fleet- 
ing, though scarcely less illusive dream of life. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

ENGLISH FEELING TOWARDS AMERICA — EXCITEMENT ON THE 
"TRENT AFFAIR" — THEY WILL WALK INTO THE YANKEES — 
HOSTILITY OF THE NOBLES — QUEEN 'S SENTIMENTS — DE- 
MOCRACY NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR OUR REBELLION — OPPRES- 
SIVE WEIGHT OF THE NOBILITY — REBELLIONS OF FRANCE 
AND ENGLAND— MATERIALS OF THE HUMAN MIND — RE- 
CEIPT FOR TESTING YOUR PATRIOTISM — SLANDER OF OUR 
RULERS — IS LONDON SAFE — THE ENGLISHMAN AT HOME — 
WEALTH OF ENGLAND — FEELING OF THE IRISH TOWARDS 
US. 

"The true end of visiting foreign parts is to look into their customs 
and policies, and observe in what particulars they excel or come 
short of our own." — Spectator. 

"He foreign countries knew, but they were known 
Not for themselves, but to advance his own."— Lluellin. 

FEW days after I landed in Liverpool, advices 
arrived of the capture of Mason and Slidell on 
the Trent, and the wrath of Johnny Bull was in- 
stantly aroused. He posted off a messenger at once to 
demand that these two arch-traitors be forthwith surren- 
dered to his care and restored to freedom. So jealous is 
he for the interests of the slave power that he offeis war 
as the only alternative of our refusal to release them. I 
was not prepared to find the state of feeling toward 
us which really exists in this country. 




johnny's wrath. 241 

In many places there is a warm sympathy with the 
Confederates, and an ill concealed hope is entertained that 
the days of our glorious Republic are numbered, and that 
ruin now inevitably coming upon us which the rotten 
despotisms of the old world have so long and so confident- 
ly predicted. The feeling against our government is 
stronger thau we at home have been aware of, and 
has only been waiting for a pretext to crop out in public 
expression. They are loud and long in their complaints 
of our repeated insults to their flag, which England has 
borne with the patience of a martyr in the cause of peace. 

On the train from Manchester to York, I fell in com- 
pany with a gentleman who, judging from my conver- 
sation that I was a foreiguer, said to me, I fancy you're 
a Yankee, sir ? I replied in the affirmative. Ah, says 
he, with a savage leer in his eye, we're a goin' to walk 
into the Yankees pretty soon now. Perhaps so, said 
I, but I calculate you'll find it pretty deep wadin'. Not 
pleased with the reply, he broke out in a passionate de- 
nunciation of the proud and insolent North, — declared 
that if there was a grain of common sense left in Lincoln 
and his Cabinet, they would make any concessions 
England might demand, and thank her for peace on any 
terms, for it would not require one month of war to an- 
nihilate the American navy, and with a little further 
provocation, England would be ready to exterminate the 
Yankee nation. X replied that I believed, from the state 
of feeling they seemed to entertain towards us, she was 
reach/ now, and sincerely regretted that she lacked the 
power. I reminded him also that the Englishman was 
not suited to our climate, when he came with uniform 
and musket, and did not always find it 'ealthy for his con- 
stitution, as certain events of ; 76 and '12 would seem to 
7iindicate. The public sentiment of the company, how- 
ever, sided with him, and the train arriving at my station, 
our conversation was here interrupted. 

An American in England, at this juncture of affairs 

between the two nations, must expect to have all to beaj: 

that quiet and unobtrusive natures are wont to endure. 

The excitement of feeling daring the r-ending of the ne- 

21 



24:2 OPINIONS ON OUR "WAR. 

gotiations on the Trent affair was intense, and the anxiety 
to Lear the result of the diplomacy with the Washington 
government absorbed almost all other subjects. The 
morning papers were eagerly sought to hear the final in- 
telligence of weal or woe to two great rival powers ; and 
it may be supposed that one thus thrown adrift amid an 
adverse element, so far from the land which holds all that 
is dear to him, and for which the fires of patriotism glow 
with increasing fervor as time and distance increase the 
separation, and the dark hour of her peril draws nigh, 
would not feel less interest in the great decision. 

It is amusing to listen to the arguments which are 
often advanced to justify the South, and the gross errors 
under which they labor with regard to the North. I have 
frequently heard it claimed in conversation, that the 
South had -submitted long enough to the domination 
of the North ! that she had paid heavy taxes year after 
year to be monopolized by her lordly rivals to their own 
aggrandizement ! ! till it was not wonderful if human na- 
ture did revolt, and claim for themselves the administra- 
tion of their own affairs ! ! ! A few of the rapacious 
New York merchants, bad luck to them, had monopolized 
the Southern trade ! and a tax of twenty-five per cent, 
had to be paid by the patient and suffering Southern plan- 
ter to convey his goods to market in New York and Bos- 
ton, when, if they were allowed their equal rights, they 
could just as well be sent from Charleston and Nor- 
folk ! ! and, at any rate, when a section of country 
wished its independence, why not let it have it ? ! ! ! 

And one of the leading London papers stated not long 
ago, that "the. North had broken down the terms of the 
compact between the States, — had denied the South the 
exercise of her undoubted constitutional rights by arbi- 
trarily prohibiting slavery in the Territories in violation 
of the fundamental principle of their government, — that 
the majority must rule, — and these incursions on their 
rights and privileges had been carried to such an ex- 
tent that the South had a perfect right, both in law and 
justice, to advertise the dissolution of the compact, and 
the nations of the world justified her in the act." These 



ANXIETY OF THE NOBLES. 243 

seutimeuts, the legitimate result of Lord John Russell's 
rascally declaration, "That the South was fighting for in- 
dependence and the North for empire," seem to be 
the general voice of the press, and public opinion has be- 
come at least deeply tinctured with the same hue. 

The prevailing ignorance of the English respecting 
our country, its institutions and its customs, is greatly 
owing to the willful misrepresentation and malicious slan- 
der of the press, which, in this country, is generally 
under the control and servilely devoted to the interests of 
the aristocracy, whose antipathy against our government 
is based upon the sure foundation of self-interest and 
self-preservation. Feeling that our prosperity in years 
pa^t, even in defiance of the clogs in our way in the 
curse of slavery, was a severe though a silent rebuke to 
them, and a sure presage of a better day dawning on the 
masses of their own land, when their gaudy fabric of so- 
cial superiority must fall ; they have long been studying 
the system of American policy, with a keen eye to its de- 
fects; and, foreseeing with that deep insight into political 
events, which their own past history has specially nur- 
tured, that we had folded the viper to our bosom, which 
would one day give us a deadly wound if not cast out, 
they have long used their influence to cherish its poison 
in our political veins, and anxiously waited for the reptile 
to receive that irritation which would cause it to strike its 
fangs at the bosom which shielded it. 

Finding that many of our Northern papers were suffi- 
ciently abandoned to adopt the same views, they have 
long chosen to make up their budget of American news, 
to be retailed to the reading masses from those disaffected 
papers, well knowing that they did not represent the feel- 
ings or the sentiments of the mass of our population ; and 
while they peremptorily reject that class of journals, 
whose ability, whose candor, and whose patriotism, make 
them the true index of feeling among us, they resolutely 
adhere to those which give that view of our cause, 
approximating the nearest to their wishes. Hence, while 
our loyal, patriotic journals are relentlessly scouted from 
the editorial sanctum, they retail the semi-traitorous 



244: THE queen's sentiments. 

effusions of the leading radical opposition papers,* well 
knowing that in so doing they suppress every trace 
of candor and every vestige of generosity towards a sister 
nation ; but accepting as a full recompense the fact that 
they are thereby enabled to give a less favorable report of 
our situation, and shade with a deeper tinge the short 
comings of our government, inexperienced as she is 
in military matters, and crippled in the opening of the 
conflict, not only by organized, but even official robbery 
of our arsenals, and a world-wide dispersion of our navy; 
thus leaving her utterly powerless in her gigantic struggle 
for life in the grasp of a deadly foe. 

But amidst the general antagonism to our free institu- 
tions among the aristocracy, it is a pleasure to know — and 
we greet the fact with the most cordial welcome — that the 
Queen herself is apparently free from those contracted 
prejudices, and, rising above the narrow minded policy of 
her ministers, regards us not in the gloomy light of rivals, 
but in the more generous character of honorable compe- 
titors in the race of human progress and the happiness of 
man. 

Professor SilHman, in his narrative of a tour to this 
country, says that he was often asked the question, even 
among the higher classes, if the English language was 
the prevailing tongue in America ; and the answer seldom 
failed to call forth expressions of surprise. In my inter- 
course with the promiscuous assemblages of hotels and 
other public places, surprise was often expressed that 
I should speak the English language so fluently, coming 
as I did from so distant a country. 

A large proportion of the press openly espouse the 
rebel cause, and nearly all treat the final success of the 
Rebellion as a fixed fact, declaring that the full triumph 
of the Federals is an absolute impossibility, while one of 
the leading journals, in a late issue, draws a parallel be- 
tween the two sections of our country, in which it makes 
the rather startling discovery that the Slave States are 
the bone and sinew, the strength and vitality of our 

*Tlie Pro-Slavery, Pro-Eebel sheets. 



UNFAIRNESS OF THE PRESS. 245 

nation; that the free States are not self-supporting, and 
could jiot subsist without the generous aid of their 
abused sisters of the South. 

The Rev. Frederic Webster Maunsell, in a lecture 
at Shroton on the subject of the United States and their 
troubles, after a tirade of abuse against us, closes thus : 
" We were as far removed from envying their prosperity 
as we are now from exulting over them in their adversity. " 
No doubt of it, Reverend Sir; no one will charge this as 
a lie ; but it would require the most accurate observation, 
aided by the finest microscopic powers, to detect any 
remove between you and envy on the one hand or triumph 
on the other. 

The great Republican bubble has burst ; the great ex- 
periment of Democracy has proved a disgraceful failure ; 
Man is not fitted for self-government, and can never 
endure too much liberty ; these are the doctrines which 
the leading papers are industriously inculcating as a 
check to the growth of Republican sentiments in this 
land. No doubt they are dictated by the agents of the 
government and the jealousy of the titled aristocracy, 
who thus take advantage of the calamities into which we 
are unfortunately plunged to show their inferiors the 
inevitable tendency of popular government, not forgetting 
meanwhile to strengthen their position by the example of 
the French in their wild and fanatical revolution, and 
the singular state of confusion into which England itself 
was thrown during the turbulent interval between the ac- 
cession of Charles I. and the Restoration ; but entirely 
forgetting, or ignoring the fact, that the great experiment 
of self-government on a basis of freedom remains as yet 
untried, aud that it is not the too great liberty of 
our country that has brought on our present troubles, but 
the element of despotism we foolishly endeavored to incor- 
porate therewith. The world will } T et have to wait long 
before the great problem receives a final solution, if 
we are not successful in our present struggle, and the re- 
vulsion of feeling caused by the consequences of our 
great mistake, will materially retard the acceptance of the 
proof. u Freedom and Slavery cannot exist together," — 
21* 



246 MATERIALS OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

lias become a household word in our own land; here the 
sentiment takes a different turn : " Free govern meats can- 
not stand ; witness the great American failure " 

In the case both of England and France, the democratic 
forms of government were established among a people 
whose previous education and prejudices were in favor of 
monarchy, and hence had a powerful conflicting element 
to contend with, which, co-operating with the difficulties 
inseparable from the establishment of a new form of 
government, and with the uncertainty and doubt always 
attending a great untried experiment, gradually under- 
mined the sentiment of freedom, and brought about the 
re-establishment of the former systems, in which the 
masses acquiesced as a matter of necessity rather than 
choice. 

It is really startling to find of what materials the 
human mind is composed when left to its own workings, 
defying the restraints of government and spurning the 
softening influences of religion as we have it shown to us 
in the Involutions of France and England, and the inhu- 
man barbarities of the so-called Confederates in our pres- 
ent rebellion, in America. And we no doubt owe it 
to the genial influence of the deep seated sentiment 
of rational religion, inherited from our Pilgrim ancestry, 
and the consummate wisdom and prudence of the fathers 
of our Republic, that we passed the stormy and critical 
period of our own great Revolution, so nearly unscathed 
by the blighting scourge of fanatical enthusiasm. 

A favorite theme for the witticism of the press is the 
conduct of the American war, the condition of the 
American finances, and the principles of our American 
policy, not omitting an occasional intimation that the state 
of society among us is rapidly retrograding. Everything 
American is open to the widest license of unfriendly 
criticism. I have yet to meet with almost the first 
expression of genuine manly sympathy for us in all the 
numerous leaders in the daily papers which have come 
under my notice ; and where a regret does escape the ed- 
itorial pen, it is mostly coupled with an allusion to 
the state of trade in this country, and especially the stag- 
nation in the cotton market. 



RECEIPT TO TEST YOUR PATRIOTISM. 247 

Would you have the strength of you patriotism tested ? 
Would you ascertain how indissoluble are the ties that 
bind you to your country ? Would you find how closely 
the love of our national banner nestles around your 
heart ? — how fondly you cling to the memory of our past 
history, brief but glorious ? Would you know how dear- 
ly you hug to your bosom the venerated name of Wash- 
ington ? How proudly you claim political brotherhood 
with our Lincoln and our Seward,* our Chase and our 
Sumner? then go with me to what we have been accus- 
tomed to consider the friendly shores of old England, 
when our country is grappling in a death struggle with a 
traitorous foe j where you will expect to meet that cordial 
feeling of political friendship, which you feel is so justly 
our due, and which is nothing more than the dictate 
of natural justice, of common honesty, and even of self- 
respect ; and you will long to give vent to the pent 
up bitterness of your mind, and the burning indignation 
that will boil and rage in your blood when you find the 
press, as with one voice, ringing throughout the length 
and breadth of the land the basest misrepresentation and 
most ungenerous slander of our country. With what 
feelings will you read the morning papers, teeming with 
abuse of our government, with ridicule of our rulers 
which you know to be utterly unmerited, and triumphing 
ia the prospective destruction of our sea-board cities, 
and the total annihilation of our commerce ? Can you 
retain your composure when you see Jefferson Davis ex- 
tolled as one of the great leading spirits of the world, as 
" the creator of a new nation 5" when you read the insult- 
ing taunt, that " such men as he and his co-adjutors are 
worthy of a better fate than to be dragged at the chariot 
wheels of a conquering democracy, intoxicated with vic- 
tory and accustomed to indulge their passions with 
the most unbounded license ? " Can you suppress your 
indignation when you see our glorious Lincoln, whose 
name is the touch-stone of loyalty, denounced as a low 
buffoon, actuated by sordid motives, devoid of principle, 

*This was written before the murder of Lincoln, 



248 IS LONDON SAFE? 

with no administrative ability, and scourged forward in 
his career of folly by his restless but imbecile ambition ? 
— when you hear Seward almost daily denounced as 
devoid of statesmanship, and Chase as lacking financial 
capacity ? Would not your bosom swell with indignation 
when you see those men, whose fathers would gladly have 
consigned our Washington to a felon's cell, and our Jef- 
ferson, our Adams, and our Franklin to the gallows; 
gloating over the fact that our Republic was dismembered 
and a rival President inaugurated within our borders, on 
that day sacred to the nation as the anniversary of the 
birth of the honored Father of our country ? 

Then would you be roused to that pitch of feeling 
in which, after having long borne their sneers and their 
taunts at our weakness and our imbecility, you could 
scarcely avoid joining me in giving an involuntary shout 
of triumph when, on a bright summer morning, you 
should be startled by the Times openly debating the 
question whether London was safe. During the night 
preceding that day, " a change had come o'er the spirit of 
their dream." The swift-winged messengers of the ocean 
had wafted to their shores the intelligence of the capture 
of New Orleans, by the iron-clad navy of Farragut run- 
ning contemptuously past the bellowing forts at the 
mouths of the Mississippi ; and the apprehensions of 
John Bull, before somewhat disturbed by the decisive 
contest between the Monitor and the Merrimac, are now 
fully aroused, lest Brother Jonathan should take it into 
his ugly head to pay the same compliment to Sheerness 
and Deptford, and show his respects to' the Tower of 
London by gently touching off his thousand pounders un- 
der her battlements, and playfully tossing a few of his 
twenty inch shells over her frowning walls. 

But with all the contumely and scorn at present thrown 
upon our ill-fated land by the anxious lordlings of Merrie 
Old England, and all the pains that are taken to defame 
our institutions, the aristocracy can lay their finger on no 
one feature of society among us, excepting alone and for- 
ever the accursed system of slavery, which exercises so de- 
pressing an influence on our people ; as their, own oppres- 



THE AMERICAN CHARACTER. . 249 

sive weight on the groaning masses beneath them. What- 
ever may be the future of our country, let us not 
bequeath to our posterity the baneful legacy of a privil- 
eged aristocracy. Then would our fair prospects be over- 
shadowed with a lowering cloud, and we would feebly 
struggle with the fell incubus, that would irresistibly drag 
us down to political perdition. Better submit a little 
longer to the dominion of the sovereign mob, which Eng- 
land is so fond of taunting us with, than bow our necks 
to the domineeriDg will of the titled few. 

The system is fraught with evils, that become more 
and more apparent as we study the subject; — evils inherent 
therein, and evils immediately, though not necessarily re- 
sulting therefrom; and I am proud to know, that with all 
our faults, it would require a long course of demoraliza- 
tion and a powerful pressure of necessity to bring the 
masses of our Northern States into that condition in 
which they would tamely submit to such a degradation, 
and peacefully assimilate with such discordant elements 
of society. There is something in the American charac- 
ter that would nobly scorn, not only to take their place 
among the lower ranks, but even to assume the factitious 
honors and empty pomp of sounding titles, if offered 
to them, and thus raise themselves to ephemeral distinc- 
tion by treading on the necks of their fellow-countrymen, 
whose natural rights and social claims are equal to their 
own. 

The more we dwell upon the subject, the more it glooms 
and blackens; but one other feature of the system may 
be brought to view : England has about the area of 
New York, with the population of the entire free States. 
Under these circumstances, 1 am surprised at the amount 
of waste land in this over-crowded country. Enormous 
parks waste their broad acres on the pompous pleasures of 
the useless gentry and the burdensome nobility. Their 
amusement is the supreme consideration, and everything 
must yield to the pampered lords of this title-ridden peo- 
ple. When engaged in the hunt, they claim and exercise 
the privilege of riding through and trampling down the 
poor man's crops, if the fox should chance to take them 



250 • THE ENGLISHMAN AT HOME 

in his flight, and the poor farmer is left without redress, 
but with no reduction of his rent, and must touch his hat 
respectfully to his lord, while winter stares him in 
the face, and his children cling around him pleading for 
bread with that eloquence which a parent only can properly 
appreciate. Americ m blood cannot patiently endure such 
wanton desolation of the sustenance of the toiling mil- 
lions. Amid our stalwart independent men, such high 
handed injustice would not meet the bland submission it 
does amid the more congenial elements of lordly domina- 
tion and cringing servility. 

The modern Englishman, in his own home, is certainly 
an anomaly. With all his enlightened liberality of 
views on science and general literature, with his wide 
scope of thought, and his powerful and searching investi- 
gation, he closes his eyes with bigoted prejudice against 
the merits of any form of government at variance with 
his own, and sternly denounces whatever conflicts with 
the long-established usages of his own land ; and his so- 
cial system has been so thoroughly incorporated with the 
prejudices of a long succession of ages, that it has become 
hereditary in his blood, and descends from father to son 
by right of primogeniture, till the higher classes would 
scarcely be less forward to resign their privileges than the 
lower to be elevated to the giddy and dangerous height of 
social equality, with those who, from time immemorial, 
have stood so immeasurably above them. 

Much is said here of the enormous wealth of England 
compared with our American States; and here again 
it appears to me the contrast is over-estimated. A few 
wealthy London bankers, especially with a Rothschild 
at their head, give a nation the appearance of immense 
wealth, even though they are surrounded with crowds 
of starving mendicants and hosts of penury-stricken labor- 
ers. If the wealth was more equally distributed the 
share of each would surely not be exhorbitant, and less 
money would flow into the treasury, for each would retain 
a competence for himself, and more would be reserved to 
maintain in comfort the entire people than it now requires 
to keep up the state of the few, and support life in the 
many. 



IRISH FEELING TOWARD US. 251 

There is perhaps more money invested in our system 
of rail roads than in those of Great Britain, but distribu- 
ted over so vast a territory, that our roads are necessarily 
less complete than theirs. Single tracks predominate 
with us, and it is a matter of time to bring them to per- 
fection, while here the whole system is condensed in 
so small a compass that they can be completed in supe- 
rior style, and all their various and expensive appendages 
conveniently and quickly supplied. The same principle 
applies in other improvements. In many particulars they 
are no doubt greatly in advance of us, while in the gen- 
eral summing up of advantages, social, civil and political, 
we hold a position to which it will cost Merrie Old Eng- 
land many a severe struggle and many a year of untiring 
effort to attain. 

The feeliDg manifested toward us by the Irish is gen- 
erally much more favorable to the cause of right and jus- 
tice than on this side the channel. America has been 
the refuge for the Irishman, and he looks upon it as an 
asylum from the wroDgs and oppressions, the exactions 
and privations of his mother land. Hence he feels an 
attachment, a warmth of gratitude towards our land, the 
abode of thousauds of his fellow-countrymen, and often 
his own prospective home, where he hopes at no distant 
period to enjoy the comforts of life and the blessings of 
independence; where plenty abounds in the outward 
world and freedom in the world of politics; where no cen- 
sorship is exercised over religious views j and where the 
honest, industrious, intelligent poor are not trampled in 
the dust by those whose fortunate birth, superior specula- 
ting abilities, or nx)re refined rascality, has succeeded in 
gathering a little more of the gold and silver of the 
world, the representatives of all commercial value, and 
hence, by an abuse of power, and an inversion of the true 
principles of nature, made the representative of social 
worth. 



252 GREAT EASTERN LEAVING LIVERPOOL. 



CHAPTER XL. 

EMBARKING FOR HOME — THE GREAT EASTERN LEAVING LIVERPOOL 

OPENING OF TIIE OCEAN VIEW PARTING WITH THE LAST 

FRIEND — FAREWELL TO OLD ENGLAND — COASTING ALONG IRE- 
LAND — DROPPING THE ANCHOR VISIT PROM IRISH NOBILITY 

DEPARTURE FROM IRELAND — SUNSET AT SEA — THE WAKE OF 

THE VESSEL NEPTUNE'S TRIUMPHAL CAR — FOURTH OF JULY 

AT SEA — TRIBUTE TO MY NATIVE LAND — STORMY EVENING — A 

. SABBATH AT SEA — ICEBERGS — TWO MILE FOOT-RACS AT SEA 

SHORE OF NEWFOUNDLAND WHALES — IN SIGHT OF AMERICA — 

ONE OF LIFE'S FAIREST DAYS LAND AT NEW YORK. 

All hail, once more, thou glorious Ocean ! Let me again enjoy thy 
moments of intense excitement, thy hours of absorbing interest, and 
thy days of dream-like, soul-entrancing beauty. 

"Thou glorious mirror! where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests." — Byron. 

r F|jJTjT my visit here is ended. My last Sabbath in 
f|^ Europe is passed. It now only remains to cm- 
bark for my native shores, and commit myself 
once more to the uncertainties of the sea. I bade fare- 
well to the families by whom I had been so kindly treated, 
and reluctantly left them, it may be, forever. 

On the morning of the first of July I stepped on board 
a tender that was lashed to the -Great Landing Stage at 
Liverpool, which soon floated off and conveyed me to the 
Great Eastern, laying at her moorings like a lazy mon- 
ster, in the channel of the Mersey. Immense crowds of 
people gathered upon the shores to see* the mighty vessel 
float down the river. Steamers, loaded with crowds of 
anxious spectators, came playing around us as the hour 
of our departure drew nigh • farewell salutes were waved 
and shouted as friends recognized each other from ship 
to boat, and a deep friendly concern was manifested in the 
welfare of the monster ship and her numerous passengers ; 
dense volumes of smoke began to pour from her iron 
chimneys, and the bustle of preparation deepened into a 
most intense excitement, when a few minutes after twelve 



PARTING WITH A FRIEND. 253 

the moorings were loosed, the steam was turned upon the 
ponderous pistons, the giant wheels began slowly to 
revolve, the cannon boomed out their boisterous farewell 
to old England, and the iron monster floated down the 
tranquil river amid the shouts and salutes of the thous- 
ands who thronged the shores and crowded the wharves, 
the landing stages, and every vacant place. 

Onward we glided, smoothly and gently, but it soon ap- 
peared with what velocity we were moving when the little 
steamers, spluttering and splashing, began to fall behind 
in the race, and were unable with their utmost efforts to 
keep pace with the stately tread of this monster of the 
deep. The city of Liverpool passed rapidly by as a float- 
ing panorama, streets, temples and palaces appeared 
in rapid succession, the river gradually widened as green 
fields and sandy banks took the place of houses and 
thronging business marts, and the gray old Ocean ex- 
panded before us in all his hoary majesty; the wind was 
blowing a heavy gale, and the whitecaps foamed on his ra- 
ging waves; Leviathan heeded it not; he sped gaily for- 
ward in his proud career, dancing and sporting on the 
rolling billows as though he bade defiance to the winds and 
waves. 

The tender, which had been lashed to our side, now 
prepared to leave us, and my friend, who had accompa- 
nied me on board to assist the agent in clearing, bade me a 
last hearty farewell, passed down the stairway from our 
deck, and left me once more alone. There is something 
solemn in thus parting with the last friend amid the open- 
ing grandeurs of an Ocean view; to feel that you are left 
to struggle alone with the sublimities of nature in her 
highest terrestrial developments, and must stifle all those 
stirring thoughts, those impassioned feelings, which ever 
and anon come gushing up from the deep fountains of life 
within you, when conversing with nature in her loftiest 
moods. 

We skirted along the coast of Wales for several hours, 

till we passed the -heights of Holyhead and stood out 

across the Channel for the southern coast of Ireland ; 

when I took my last lingering look at the shores of old 

22 



254 FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 

England. I gazed long and earnestly on this hoary 
promontory as it faded away in the mists of the evening, 
and among the reflections that crowded upon me, the de- 
sire sprang up with more than usual fervency, that the ill 
feeling which unhappily exists between our two peoples, 
may subside and a friendly intercourse be renewed. 

And now farewell, a long farewell to merrie and power- 
ful England. Her great historic renown has placed her 
in the foremost rank of nations, — her works of art have 
given her a place in the student's mind to which few 
lands have attained ; her London is the pride and glory 
of the world ; her grand old Cathedrals, her ruined Ab- 
beys, her relics of the olden time, throw over her the odor 
of antiquity next to the hoary honors of Greece and 
Rome ; her literary immortals, that have taken their 
place among the chief of Earth's honored sons, her 
Shakspeare and her Milton, her Bacon and her Newton, 
have given her a name that can never die in the annals 
of human renown. But adieu, a heart-warm, fond 
adieu. Thou hast ever been a favorite theme for Fancy, 
over which she has flung the flimsy veil of her gossamer 
web of beauty; and now that thou art clothed with Mem- 
ory's more substantial robe, th} 7 name and thy fame will 
ever be a chosen shrine, to which I must henceforth bring 
the choicest offerings of esteem and admiration, and a 
place must be assigned thee, second only in honor to that 
of my native land. To the one is due the richest tributes 
of the mind, to the other the sacred homage of the heart. 

On awaking the next morning and "looking forth 
from the windows of the ark," the coast of Green Erin 
was seen laying close on our starboard, and we were 
skimming over the turbulent waves as smoothly and 
gently as a skiff on a tranquil river; hill after hill, and 
cove after cove, coming successively into view, while on 
the other hand the vision was lost in the waste of rolling 
billows, which were chasing each other as if in sportive 
glee, and dancing in brightness and beauty as the sun 
tinted their crests with purple and gold, while the white- 
caps were foaming up in beautiful feathery wreaths far 
off in the watery distance. 



DROPPING THE ANCHOR. 255 

Our anchor hung suspended at the bow, its giant flukes 
expanded like two monstrous arms to grapple with the 
obstacles around. On arriving off Queenstown, at the 
proper moment the axe descended on the slender cord 
that held it at a great mechanical advantage j it dropped 
quick and sudden and cut beneath the wave, and its pon- 
derous bulk plunged down, down, down with ever increas- 
ing rapidity, dragging the mighty cable after it deeper 
and deeper still, and the giant bulk of the Great Eastern 
quivered to the rapid motion of the heavy links as they 
clattered over her iron guards. Our vessel swung round 
with the current, and her tremendous weight came surg- 
ing on the massive cable that chained her to the Ocean's 
floor; the iron links creaked, strained and parted, leaving 
the anchor safely lodged on the bottom, and we found our- 
selves floating out to sea at random. She was headed up 
again for the harbor, and remained beating about the 
balance of our stay. 

Here again we were visited by the curious, the fashion- 
able and the fair. The Telegraph, a swan-like steamer, 
came plowing her way through the waters and fluttered 
around and around us, now running close under our bul- 
warks to give her passengers an idea of the immense size 
of our vessel, and now taking a wider circuit for a more 
comprehensive view. She was loaded with the aristocracy 
of Cork and vicinity. Gold and jewels flashed from the 
youthful and the old ; silk handkerchiefs were waved by 
delicate hands ; banners were flung to the breeze by the 
rougher sex ; the mellow strains of " God save the 
Queen," and glorious old "Yankee Doodle," came float- 
ing up amid the din of preparation, and several hearty 
cheers rang along the bosom of the ocean, that sounded 
very much as if this superior race was only human. 
They were answered with hearty enthusiasm ; a mutual 
interchange of civilities betokened a mutual regard, and 
our distinguished visitors, having given us an earnest of 
their best wishes on our voyage, turned the prow of their 
boat to the shore and went tossing away on the gentle 
waves to their home in the Emerald Isle. 

We were detained here about ten hours waiting for the 



256 SUNSET ON THE OCEAN. 

passengers and mails. The harbor was full before us; a 
beautiful cove opening up into the land, encircled by 
the mimic city and backed by a range of romantic hills, 
while the tranquil waters reflected like a liquid mirror 
the rural beauties of the scene. When at length all were 
safely on board, the steam was again admitted .to the 
mighty engines, the head of the vessel was turned to the 
west, the cannon once more thundered forth their em- 
phatic adieu, and the monster Leviathan walked out again 
upon the bounding billows of the ocean. 

As the shades of evening gathered around, and the 
mantle of night fell like a sombre veil on the face of re- 
posing nature, the land receded in the distance, and the 
verdant shores of the Green Isle of theJDcean faded from 
my view, and my bosom harbored a lingering regret 
at parting from her beauteous scenes. But when I turned 
to the west and looked out on the wide expanse of waters, 
when I saw with what a rapid pace we were speeding on 
our way, I began to realize that I was not so much part- 
ing from dearly loved scenes, as returning to those still 
nearer and still dearer; the shores of my own America 
already loomed up to fancy's view beyond the mists and 
shadows of the western horizon ; home, with all its en- 
dearments, beckoned to me in the distance, and our gallant 
ship, bounding forward as on eagle pinions, promised a 
most delightful passage. 

In the evening, in the rays of the setting sun, thescen^ 
was resplendently beautiful. A dark curtain of sombre 
clouds hung just above the northwestern horizon. Near 
the west this bank rested apparently on the water and was 
repeated beneath its surface. North and east the fading 
azure of the clear sky looked down upon the beautiful 
silvery tint of its own lovely image, while the rich orange 
tinge of the sunset horizon was reflected with gorgeous 
splendor in the thousand waves that sported over old 
Ocean's rippling and turbulent bosom. 

The next morning we were far out of sight of land, 
and the waters are rapidly assuming the more decided 
character of the wild unfathomable deep. The mighty 
ocean is again around us, naught but sky and water comes 



THE WAKE OF THE VESSEL. 257 

within the scope of the keenest vision ; the winds are 
hushed and the waters calm ; scarce a ripple plays upon 
that gentle everlasting swell that rolls over the bosom of 
the open sea and slowly rocks our floating city as her pad- 
dles alternately act with greater or less force upon the 
waves. The color of the ocean, of a saffron tint near 
shore, gradually and imperceptibly deepens into a most 
beautiful and vivid sea-green, stretching away, away, away 
in the distance, deepening in color and increasing in 
beauty apparently to the utmost confines of the world, 
where the sky and water meet but do not mingle. 

We are now in the deep, deep sea. The waters again 
have that dark, intense green, tinctured with blue, which 
characterizes the mighty depths of ocean. I lingered 
long leaning over the stern, admiring the beauty of our 
wake. Far back in our rear this milky path, cut sharp 
and clear like a river of foam in a verdant prairie, finely 
contrasts with the intense dark hue of the ocean, and with 
the limpid pools of emerald green that come boiling up 
through the seething flood, while the constant hissing of 
the waters, as they go raging on in the troubled wake, 
and the undulations of the waves as they bound across its 
lengthened line, give no inadequate idea of the fabled 
sea-serpent, writhing and hissing in his wrath when his 
peace is disturbed by the bold intrusion of this wild 
Steam Ranger of the deep. 

Near the vessel the wake presents a most beautiful ap- 
pearance, boiling, foaming, hissing, seething as it escapes 
from beneath the stern ; a film of snow-white foam boils 
and bubbles along the surface, ever and anon breaking 
into irregular openings, through which the quiet waters 
come boiling up in pools of deep unfathomable blue like 
upward pouring cataracts, while mist-wreaths, faintly 
visible beneath the surface, rise gracefully from those 
briny depths, come bubbling up and open out like feathery 
snow or flakes of hoar-frost, and mingle with the spark- 
ling foam that dances on the troubled waves. 

The Great Eastern may well be considered one of the 
wonders of the world. The luxurious splendor of her 
glittering saloons, the gorgeous architectural decorations 
22* 



258 FOURTH OF JULY AT SEA. 

which are lavished upon her, and the inherent principle 
of life which seems to pervade and inspirit her every 
movement, as she performs her graceful evolutions, sport- 
ing like a swan upon the billowy element, requires but 
little aid from the fancy to invest her with the classic 
honors of the olden time, and transform her into Nep- 
tune's triumphal chariot; the subject waters calming 
down their boisterous waves, as their Sovereign proudly 
trod his liquid realm ; the dolphin heralding his approach, 
the porpoise attending his progress, and the huge un- 
wieldly whale playing his uncouth gambols as the Monarch's 
car swept by. 

The morning of the Fourth of July opened upon us 
bright and beautiful. As we had many Americans on 
board, the captain kindly gave permission to fling the star- 
spangled banner from the mast-head, and fire a salute to 
its honor. At twelve o'clock the glorious old flag was 
run up aloft, and floated from the two foremost masts ; 
the English colors flying from the two hinder ones, and 
as the Stars and Stripes streamed out to the breeze the 
heavy booming of the cannon thundered out a noisy wel- 
come, and the sound' was lost in the watery waste ; 
no echoes returning to repeat the salutation from any dis- 
tant object around; yet there they floated, as gaily, as 
proudly, as though the salute had been returned by a 
thousand echoes, and the reverberations of public ac- 
claim. 

So stands our country at present, exposed to the storms 
of dissension and discord, and our proud banner flaps 
and flutters in the wild tornado, while the shouts of filial 
affection, which her faithful children send up to her, are 
not re-echoed by the neighboring nations; all around us is 
the silence of hatred and contempt, and a murmur of tri- 
umph in our troubles is heard, in a more or less ominous 
sound ; and yet she pursues her independent career, 
boldly contending for her existence, conscious of strength 
within herself, though utterly without consolation or sym- 
pathy from abroad — fondly cherishing the memory of a 
Washington, who sweetly sleeps beneath the hallowed 
cypress of Mount Vernon, the only spot of old Virginia 



TRIBUTE TO MY NATIVE COUNTRY. 259 

that justly retains the name of sacred soil y and proudly 
obeying the mandate of an Honest Man,* which Pope 
declares to be the noblest work of Grod, now seated in our 
Presidential chair. 

All honor to glorious old America ! May she yet rise 
with renewed strength and vigor from the conflict in 
which she is now engaged ! May our noble Eagle once 
more flap his wings in triumph, and, unclogged by the 
shackles of slavery, soar aloft in the pride of his might 
and power to the highest regions of the political empy- 
rean, boldly shrieking defiance in the Lion's ear, and 
commanding the love and respect of a wondering and an 
admiring world. 

And the star-spangled banner, oh ''long may it wave P' 
And guard and protect us from youth to the grave ; 
May true hearts rally round it, strong arms be its stay, 
Till it sweeps the last long-lingering tyrant away ; 
And becomes, what it promised, when first 'twas unfurled, 
The Evangel or Freedom to a down-trodden world. 

The next morning opened upon us beautiful and 
clear, the sun shining brightly and the crystal waters 
gleaming beneath his rays ; the canvas was flung to the 
breeze, and all was happiness and gaiety aboard. But 
about noon a change came over the beautiful scene; 
a sombre pall enveloped the face of ocean ; mists began to 
hover in the western horizon ; clouds, angry and dark 
gathered around ; the fogs condensed into rain ; the gen- 
tle breeze became rougher and wilder, and moaned in fit- 
ful gusts over the watery waste ; the waves swelled into 
wrathful surges, and went bounding away in their headlong 
career; white caps foamed and roared on every hand, and 
a tempestuous evening evidently awaited us. As the day 
wore on the Ocean became grander and wilder, the winds 
howled and the rains descended, and the Iron Monster 
rolled and tumbled in a style that would have done no dis- 
credit to the old Wyoming. Eight men were sent to the 
wheel, and all was prepared for a stormy night. The roll- 

*"How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war per- 
ished ! How— are the mighty fallen ! !" 1866. \ 



260 A SABBATH AT SEA. 

ing of the ship created more merriment than fear, and 
some of her tidiest lurches sent things rattling about the 
rooms in rather noisy confusion, amid the mingled shouts, 
laughter and terrors of the motley crowd. For once, at 
least, the passengers on this vessel had a liberal expe- 
rience of sea-sickness. The night closed around us, not 
long nor dark, for the moon tempered the " palpable ob- 
scure," and sent us reeling to our beds, where we were 
rocked to sleep like so many children in our mighty cra- 
dle, while listening to the boisterous lullaby of 
Ocean. 

Another Sabbath at sea. How pleasant, how solemn 
the thought, while our friends at home on either side the 
Atlantic are gathering in their respective places of wor- 
ship, we are plowing our way through the pathless Ocean, 
denizens of neither world, and voyagers, in a double 
sense, on the great ocean of life. They that go down to 
the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, these 
see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the mighty 
deep. 

The mystery of Life, both the present and the future, 
is ever deepening to our apprehension, as we endeavor to 
look into its profound relations. What are we ? A va- 
por, an exhalation of the morning, which the breezes of 
the day waft off and disperse in the vault of heaven, and 
no one knows they ever existed, save an occasional wreath 
of beauty that lingers awhile to view, and flings back a 
gleam of heavenly glory as it hovers o'er the western 
horizon. Such is man in the present life. But in his 
more exalted nature he is destined, if he properly fills 
his mission, to a dignity no tongue can tell, no mind con- 
ceive; a candidate for Heaven; a younger brother of 
God's risen Son; an inmate of that glorious mansion 
where the children of the Supreme Father dwell forever 
beneath the canopy of His paternal love ; a being destined 
to run the race of unceasing improvement through the 
endless ages of eternity; a mystery of mysteries; u . an 
embryo God ; a spark of fire divine." 

The next morning while lounging in bed awake, I was 
electrified by the alarm of an iceberg in sight. This was 



ICEBEKGS. 261 

a new phase of sea life, and I was not long in getting on 
deck. There it was, a great mountain of ice, floating 
away on our larboard at a few miles distance, but the mists 
gathered suddenly around and 'quickly obscured it from 
view. We are now on the banks of Newfoundland, and 
heavy fogs hang over us, condensing at times with aston- 
ishing rapidity, and again as mysteriously clearing away. 
After noon another monstrous berg loomed up ahead of 
us, and as we approached, it increased in size and beauty, 
and grandeur. Its appearance changed as it swung with 
the motion of the current. At one time it looked like a 
large L house, with a thatched roof and a spacious porch 
around one end and side ; then a high quadrangular block 
came floating around into view, and anon it was trans- 
formed into a gigantic hayrick, with two sphynxes seated 
on the opposite ends, looking out on the troubled sea. 
The ice was a clear white, like a mass of snow, and when 
the sun broke out it glittered like a mighty crystal, while 
streaks of emerald green and azure blue ran through it, 
and varied the color of the mass with the most beautiful 
tints. 

During the day the passengers got up a series of games 
for amusement. The most prominent feature was a two 
mile foot-race, rather an unusual occurrence at sea, being 
eight times around the deck of the vessel, which is over 
an eighth of a mile in length. A humorous rope perform- 
ance was also given; a chalk line on deck, forty feet 
above the water, was carefully walked with mimic cau- 
tion by some buffoons, and a clown added his awkward 
tricks. 

Soon the shores of New Foundland came in sight, and 
we coasted along it for several miles, and about noon 
stopped off Cape Race to exchange papers with a small 
boat which put out to meet us. Here we received the 
startling news of the retreat of McClellan from before 
Richmond. We made rather a quick passage, bringing 
advices from Queenstown in . five days and seventeen 
hours. New Foundland looks like a desolate abode. The 
coast is here rocky, but not high ; sterile in appearance, 
and almost uninhabited except by a few fishermen. For 



262 WHALES. 

many long months its shores are icebound, and washed by 
the chill currents that come pouring down from the frigid 
regions of Baffin's Bay. Its soil yields but a sparing sup- 
ply of products; the fisheries are its main dependence, 
and a life of hardship awaits its inhabitants. 

On going on deck after dinner a large cake of ice was 
seen directly ahead of us, at a great distance. As we 
neared it, it assumed very large proportions, while at one 
end the sphynxes were again repeated. This seems to be 
rather a usual form of these enormous ice blocks ; a high 
rounded knob splitting off in the centre, and leaving a 
perpendicular face, the inequalities of which often pre* 
sent a rude approach to the human features when seen in 
profile, and the head and body are formed by the mass of 
the block. 

But another wonder awaited me ; a slight spray here 
and there upon the water, different from the white-caps, 
attracted my attention, and while intently watching to 
see what caused it, a whale of most enormous size tossed 
his giant back out of the water at a little distance from 
the ship, leisurely rolled over on his side, gave a plunge 
or two with his tail, dived his head beneath the surface, 
threw himself into the segment of a circle, and revolved 
like a monstrous wheel till he was completely out of sight. 
Another frolic brought him to the surface again in a simi- 
lar manner, and a "companion close by joined in the fun. 
Their enormous bulk so completely broke the course of 
the waves, that for a considerable time the place was very 
perceptible, before they regained their usual flow. Hun- 
dreds of porpoises also sported in the water, darting along 
in the direction we were going, now just cleaving the 
waves with their spiny fins, and now leaping entirely 
into the air ; they formed a scene of peculiar animation 
that agreeably broke the monotony of an Ocean life. 

The day at length dawned which was to bring me once 
more in sight of my native land. The early morning was 
foggy, gentle breezes played across the world of waters, 
mists and clouds hung in the upper deep, but as the sun 
arose the vapors scudded before his genial ray, and a most 
delightful day opened upon the calm and boundless 



ONE OF LIFE'S FAIREST DAYS. 263 

Ocean. Every trace of mist disappeared ; a few delicate 
clouds, or rather Aims of vapor, hovered along the hori- 
zon j the sun shone with transcendent beauty, and 
touched the resplendent waters with most gorgeous hues, 
running through every shade from the delicate saffron 
tints beneath the sun, gradually deepening into the in- 
tense blue and heavy sea green of the opposite horizon. 

The waters sparkled and gleamed as they danced in 
the dazzling sunlight; fragments of rain-bows played 
around us in the spray that came bursting up from the 
rushing prow and the giant wheels; the azure deep 
of Heaven was reflected with intense perfection in the 
azure deep of Ocean ; and the sight went ranging away, 
through the infinite depths of ether, and penetrated the 
clear hyaline of Heaven with a gaze of marvellous power ; 
while Fancy went plunging down into the mysterious 
depths of that profound abyss beneath us, amid whose un- 
told scenes Imagination loves to roam and range at large, 
and revel with unbounded license in that wild poetic 
ground, where Neptune holds his mystic court, where sea- 
nymphs sport and mermaids play, and Neriads dance along 
the wire, the highway of electric thought, whose gates 
are closed, whose passage barred, that bound two worlds 
in one. 

Oh, the scene was glorious ! It possessed that peculiar 
charm which could almost steal the heart away from one's 
native land, and tempt the. weary wanderer to linger long, 
and linger fondly, on the Ocean wave. 

England knows not the clear transparent atmosphere, 
the dazzling lustre of the sun, or the deep unfathomable 
sky of our western world. Her mists, her damps, her 
fogs, her heavy drizzling skies, are but poorly calculated 
to inspire that lightness and buoyancy of frame, and 
that hilarity of heart, which is the natural condition un- 
der the inviograting influences of our brighter, happier 
clime. 

Soon the shores of Fisher's Island came in sight, then 
the lighthouse on Montauk Point, and the distant shores 
of Connecticut were faintly visible. We entered Long 
Island Sound at its narrow outlet, one of the finest bodies 



264 LAND AT NEW YORK. 

of water our country can boast. Its breadth is just suffi- 
cient to give the full effect of water scenery without the 
terrific grandeur of the Ocean; and the rocky coast 
of Connecticut on the one hand, and the low sandy shores 
of Long Island on the other ; now hovering like wisps of 
vapor on the distant horizon, and now waving their foliage 
close under our gunwales as we wound our serpentine 
course amid its treacherous shoals, gave it more the ap- 
pearance of an inland sea than a portion of the briny 
deep. About four o'clock, on the afternoon of the 
eleventh of July, we cast anchor, and our voyage was 
ended. 



CHAPTER X L I . 

S VPPLEMENTARY. 

DESIRES TO TRAVEL — MY POVERTY — SUPERFLUOUS COURTESY 
REFINED ALCHEMY — ONE GOOD RESULT OF CASTE IN SO- 
CIETY — GRADES OF TRAVELERS — GENEROSITY OF THE 
GOVERNMENT — MY WAY OF LIVING — MODEL LODGING 
HOUSES. 

"Man wants but little here below, 
Is or wants that little long."— Goldsmith. 

^TijJpN accomplishing my little tour to the vestibule of 
fflj® the old world, I stepped aside from the beaten 
&mMvL track of previous travelers, and shall also deviate 
as far from the usual method of telling my story, by ad- 
ding a chapter, which will probably be unique in the 
whole catalogue of tourists. 

I spent somewhat more than seven months on old 
world soil, including over eleven weeks in London, visit- 
ing every place described in the preceding pages, and 
many others of great interest, but with which it docs not 
seem proper to trouble the reader, and the entire expen- 
ses of my journey, for passage-tickets, board, lodging, 
washing, guide books and guides, including both passages 
across the Atlantic, were less than two hundred and 

/ ' 



OBJECTS OF TRAVEL. 265 

twenty dollars. The object of this chapter is to give an 
account of my method of traveling, and the motives that 
induced me to enter upon the journey, under no trifling 
difficulties. 

Having from a child read with most absorbing interest 
the glowing narratives of foreign travel amid the world's 
great centers of civilization and refinement, I had im- 
bibed a wish, amounting almost to the ruling passion of 
my nature, to mingle with the crowd of votaries at the 
shrines of poetic Genius, and indulge a solemn thought 
amid the sombre gloom of the cloistered Abbeys, and the 
long-drawn aisles of the great cathedrals of the old 
world. 

I have often thought a young man who reads with 
deep interest the classics of modern England, never 
knows the depths of feeling of which he is susceptible, 
till he stands beneath the dome of St. Paul's; till he in- 
dulges in the glow of poetic fancy that is found alone 
amid the shades of Westminster Abbey ; till he mingles 
with the surging throng that eddies round the Obelisk of 
Luxor, where the Louvre and the Madeline throw the 
shadow of their glory over his awakened spirit j till he 
wanders amid the classic scenes of Stratford, and laves 
his hand in the turbid Avon ; till he s^ees the original 
civilization of the old world, the starting point of the 
high, the perfect, the unparalleled refinement of the 
more intelligent classes of our own America. 

Amid these scenes the fountains of a man's nature are 
broken up, a tide of feeling of which he little dreamed 
himself the possessor, comes sweeping over his mind, 
and sparkles of poetic thought incessantly play upon the 
gushing tide of new emotions that come pouring 
through his mind, till he feels himself transformed to 
another creature, and inhabiting a higher realm of 
thought and fancy than he had ever before attained. 
At least such I eventually found was the case with me. 

These sentiments had grown, these feelings had 
strengthened within me, till they assumed the' mastery of 
my nature, and I was as it were passive under their con- 
trol. But how was, I to undertake the journey ? In my 
23 



266 NO SUPERFLUOUS COURTESY. 

case a difficulty stood full in the way, which for a long 
time seemed quite insurmountable. This was the want of 
means. We are accustomed to that haughty style of nar- 
rative by travelers, which leads us to imagine that before 
entering on a journey of this character, we must fill our 
pockets with thousands, and be ready for a heavy drain 
for comfort, for safety, and for show. For myself I com- 
manded nothing but the intense desire. I have never at- 
tained even to the golden mean, save through constant at- 
tention to business, and the unceasing exercise of a rigid 
economy. But I began to reflect that it required but lit- 
tle to sustain the body in a state of health and comfort, 
and perhaps as little would suffice in a foreign land as at 
home; that it was surely but little worse to make an 
humble appearance among strangers than among my 
'friends ; that if I traveled in humble attire, very few 
would recognize the fact either with favor or censure; that 
my object was not to exhibit myself to others, but to 
catch a glimpse of the time-honored sceues of the literature 
of the motherland; that the condition of the purse need not 
affect the eyes or the mind ; and that health, safety and 
comfort are all a traveler requires to enable him to 
profit by his tour. 

In fine, the question was rapidly narrowing itself down 
to the alternative of traveling in a very humble way or 
not traveling at all ; and it seemed to be altogether su- 
perfluous courtesy to be always turning the fair side to 
London, for when you land in that somewhat noted village, 
nameless and penniless, homeless and friendless, London 
will not reciprocate the compliment ; she will not turn the 
fair side to you. 

Apropos to London ! To the mental vision of the 
ideal student, London has no side that is not fair. What 
would he not give to be placed for a week amid her inex- 
haustible fountains of amusement and instruction, even 
though he were compelled to live on the plainest fare and 
mingle only with the poor but honest tradesman, could he 
only divest himself of that feeling of pride, that egotistic 
principle which is the basis of aristocracy, and which, in 
the old world, has struck its roots so cjeeply in the social 



REFINED ALCHEMY. 267 

system. For myself, welcome the frown of the titled lord 
jif such must be my lot, which, -however, is not the case ; 
welcome a season of homely fare, if a necessary adjunct to 
the tour, if by enduring these woful terrors I can indulge 
a ceaseless longing from the sunny days of my childhood, 
and revel in the mental visions that throng amid the 
monuments of Poet's corner, that float within the misty 
orb of St. Paul's glorious dome, that flutter round the 
rosy bowers and woodvine arbors of the u bonnie Doon," 
and cluster o'er the antique walls and heaven-directed 
spire of Stratford. It matters little whether I eat the 
bread of life at tables crowned with jeweled plate, where 
rank and title prove themselves no guard against the mere 
animal wants of our common nature, or at the humble 
board where the laborer takes his frugal meal. 

I accordingly gathered what little I could, amounting 
to barely two hundred and fifty dollars, and started. The 
task before me was to make the most of my limited means; 
and I applied myself assidiously to the chemical experi- 
ment of extracting the greatest possible amount of enjoy- 
ment from a given sum of money. In the solution of this 
delicate problem, I made constant improvements, till 
finally it seemed to resolve itself into a mass of unmin- 
gled enjoyment. As I proceeded in my experiments in 
this subtle and refined alchemy, I was surprised to find 
the vast amount of happiness or misery that lies enfolded 
in the sovereign Dollar. The artist may extract a portion 
of each in its unalloyed perfection, or, wonderful to tell, 
he may transmute the one entirely into the other, whereby 
the poison becomes manna, if he so wills, fills the mind 
with holy-bread, and feeds it with the choicest condiments 
of Literature, and the luxurious conserves of History and 
Science. 

In England the institution of caste, which runs through 
all departments of society, and is the basis of every por- 
tion of the social fabric, produces one result which is fa- 
vorable to the lower classes. The nobles form a society 
to themselves, never mingling in social life save as a mat- 
ter of condescension, with those of a lower sphere. They 
monopolize to a great extent the wealth of the land. 



268 THE LABORER ON A TOUR. 

They live in splendor, and when they travel, scatter gold 
with a profusion that would well nigh turn the heads of 
their humble fellow-beings, who, in the lottery of life, 
have drawn the prize of toil. Below them in the social 
scale other classes take their places, stratum below stra- 
tum; — query, in the order of their specific gravities, 
the lightest mounting to the top ? — each separate and dis- 
tinct. Everything is arranged on this principle; there 
must be no mixing, no mingling of the adverse elements. 
The rail roads run three classes of cars, hotels offer you 
accommodations of different grades, according to the 
amount of money you choose to spend, guides and porters 
wait upon you, and receive your donations with a bow, 
which is nicely graduated to the amount you give. For 
a penny they will return you a sudden toss of the head, 
intended to be courteous, but only a little on this side 
scorn ; a sixpence limbers up their joints to no small de- 
gree, and produces considerable latitude in their motions; 
while a shilling is greeted with a genuflection perfectly as- 
tonishing ; the foot receives a spasmodic impulse to paw 
the ground before you, the hand spontaneously flies to the 
head, and he indulges you in the special favor of a sight 
of his bristled crown, while a broad smile plays across his 
features, and he plainly says that he considers you 
a gentleman. 

Hence all are respectable in their proper sphere, and 
while the laborer who travels makes perhaps no better ap- 
pearance than at home, he is not the subject of invidious 
remark, as he would be with us. He takes his meals at 
humble houses, or carries perhaps his accustomed bread 
and cheese ; he seeks lodgings where cleanliness and hu- 
mility abide, and pays but a moderate bill, while the gen- 
erosity of the government has thrown open all the great 
collections of art and nature to his inspection, free as the 
air of heaven, only asking that he be respectably clad 
and conduct himself with propriety. And all the chief 
places of resort under the control of companies vary their 
prices of admission on different days, to accommodate all 
classes. Thus the Crystal Palace, at Sydenham, charges 
one shilling a day, except on Saturdays, when the price 



A POOR man's feast. 269 

is doubled, whilst the exhibitions are the same, save that 
the fountains play higher on that day. The Nobles are by 
this means enabled to enjoy their gala days in this Palace 
of Wonders without coming in contact with their toil-worn 
neighbors. 

Upon starting out from Liverpool, I immediately adapt- 
ed myself to circumstances. As money was the test of 
social merit, and I could not produce the evidence, I vol- 
untarily took the place that would have been assigned me. 
Third class cars, comfortable but very plain, were my 
conveyance, in which the fare was invariably a penny a 
mile. Owing to a physical debility I was unable to travel 
on foot, and was under the necessity of always going by 
public conveyance. I was not burthened with baggage, 
save a hand sachel. I carried my provisions with me, 
adopting the Englishman's custom of little variety ; a 
piece of bread and cheese, a little butter, an ounce or so of 
tea, are all he needs. When I called for lodgings, which 
I generally found no difficulty in obtaining clean and tidy, 
the landlady considered it her place to cook my supper 
and breakfast. I would buy a piece of meat and give it 
to her with my tea, and in a few.minutes a repast would 
be placed before me sufficient to quiet the calls of hunger : 
and what more could Queen Victoria's banquets do ? In 
the morning my breakfast would be prepared in the same 
manner, and I could either leave or carry away the frag- 
ments without remark in either case. For these accom- 
modations, my bed included, the charge would commonly 
be from three to six pence ; six to twelve cents. 

In the principal cities, what are called Model Lodging 
Houses, are generally established. A description of one 
in London, at which I spent many weeks, may explain 
the system. A large house is divided longitudinally by 
a hall on each floor, on each side of which are small sleep- 
ing rooms, well ventilated, with a single bed in each. On 
the ground floor is a large reading room, with blazing fire 
and plentiful gas lights, furnished with seats and tables 
for reading, writing or eating ; while in the basement is a 
large kitchen, with cooking utensils free to all, and 
a fierce fire kept up from 4 A. M. to 11.30 P. M., and in 



270 MODEL LODGING HOUSES. 

another apartment a series of lockers for dishes and 
victuals, with wire gauze in the door for ventilation. 

Upon applying for lodgings here, you pay half a crown, 
about sixty cents, for a week's accommodations. You are 
furnished with a key to a bed-room, in which is a bed 
made up clean ; you receive also a key to a locker, and 
dishes for your own use, for which you deposit sixpence, 
to be refunded on returning the articles ; you have free 
access to a large library, an unlimited supply of water, 
and can take a bath either cold, warm, or hot, every day 
at your pleasure, and are expected to make yourself per- 
fectly at home. The daily papers are furnished in the 
reading room, for which you are charged an extra penny 
a week. You then go out and buy your provisions, bring 
them in, and cook them to your own liking, or hire a cook, 
who is always in attendance to do it for you ; you have 
exclusive access to your room and locker, save a trusty 
servant who makes your bed and keeps the room in order, 
and whatever you deposit with the superintendent is in 
safe keeping. Lodgings cannot be obtained except by the 
week, at the close of which clean clothes are furnished 
the bed, whether you stay or leave. What would you de- 
sire more independent than this ? You can range the city 
at will from four in the morning till midnight, when the 
doors are closed, and for the next hour you will have to 
pay the porter two pence for admitting you. At one the 
doors are finally closed till four. In this house I lived 
several weeks, at an expense for boarding, washing and 
lodging, of from two dollars to two and a quarter a week. 
I lived like a Prince, — by eating, — and certainly made no 
half hand at the business. It is the "Model Lodging 
House, George Street, Bloonisbury." It is convenient to 
the British Museum, close to Oxford Street and Holborn, 
not far from Charing Cross, White Hall, Westminster Ab- 
bey, and the Parliament Houses, and indeed may. be con- 
sidered a central position in London. You who have 
wealth would not be content with these accommodations ; 
neither would I in your circumstances ; but Poverty and 
Pride must not go hand in hand. 

Thus I passed amid the countless millions of Britain, 



A traveler's quiet enjoyment. 271 

unknowing and unknown, leading a two-penny life as to" 
the outward, but reveling in scenes of spiritual glory and 
feasting at intellectual banquets, which the wealth of a 
.Rothschild would not have enabled me to enjoy with a ( 
keener zest. What cared I that my dinner had consisted of 
a herring and a bun, when I was absorbed in the precious 
treasures of the great National Museum, when the Genius \ 
of Human Progress opened the rich casket of her jewels 
to my view in the halls of the Great Exhibition • when I 
gazed upon the towers of Westminster Abbey, or stood in 
presence of the splendid majesty of Charing Cross. I 
ransacked many precious collections, I gathered a gem 
here and there from the multitude of street stands, where 
second-hand books are sold at merely nominal prices ; I 
rambled along Oxford Street, where fashionable shops 
supply the wants of the fair nobility, and visited the 
splendid stores, flashing with finery and flaming with 
flounces and furbelows, with as high a head and as inde- 
pendent an air as though I had set out to represent all 
Yankeedom. — 

Young man, I have told thee the simple truth. My 
journey will not arrest the gaze of a wondering world ; 
such was not its design. The finger of scorn may often 
be pointed at my humble tour ; I regard it not. If I have 
succeeded in telling my story in such a manner as to in- 
terest thee, my aim is accomplished. I could repeat the 
journey at even less expense, but were it possible to part 
with the mental treasure which this tour has given me, 
on conditions that I was to forego all future travel, wealth 
alone would be no temptation. Silver and gold are pre- 
cious blessings if properly employed ; those who have 
them value them with an exceedingly high estimate. I 
should do the same; but my inheritance does not consist 
in worldly goods; it is rich only in the precious influences 
of domestic bliss, and the choicest memories of parental 
and fraternal love. 

I have visited the chief localities of dreary, dismal, 
dripping England ; I have stood in her beauteous Parks, 
and my eye has surveyed her wondrous artificial land- 
scapes, rimmed by the mist-mantled hills in the distance, 



272 THE ATTAINED AND THE PROSPECTIVE. 

and checkered with light and shade as the sky was flecked 
with clouds ; I have watched her proud vessels from the 
hills of her rock-bound coast, wafted away on the evening 
breeze, and seemingly mingling with the night as it closed 
around them ; I have been admitted to her inexhaustible 
fountains of instruction, and have surveyed her congrega- 
ted wonders of every age and every clime ; and the 
blessed privilege has filled me with a feeling of triumphant 
joy, has thrilled me with emotions I can never know 
again till I tread the classic Halls of Rome and Athens, 
till I stand beneath the glorious dome of St. Peter's, and 
amid the sombre shades of the Colosseum ; till I drink 
my fill of Inspiration at the sacred Fountain of Oastalia, 
and lose myself in the sublimities, both of nature and 
mind, that cluster around the vale of Tempe j till I gaze 
upon the minarets of St. Sophia and of Omar ; till I tread 
the sacred hills of Jerusalem, and repose amid the palm- 
groves of Damascus. 



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